Subversion
by Myricle
Summary: When Voldemort was vanquished, Harry inherited the Dark Lord's prodigious mental abilities but hides them for fear of attracting unwanted attention. His twin brother Jim inherited Voldemort's magical power and was hailed as the Boy Who Lived. Sound familiar? Check the title. Starts in Year 4. AU.
1. Disaster at the World Cup

****A/N: This story flirts with canon, but they're just too different to ever form a real relationship. Don't waste words asking why things are different. It's an AU.****

* * *

 **Subversion**

 **Chapter 1: Disaster at the World Cup**

 **25 August 1994**

 **Late Morning**

When the World Cup Disaster began, I was sitting in the Top Box with the Minister for Magic shrieking in the seat beside me.

On my left, Draco Malfoy followed the game with an intensity and enthusiasm that he rarely allowed himself to display. Beyond him, Theodore Nott had barely taken his Omnioculars from his head since the game began, though he seemed to divide his attention between the players and the crowd, enjoying the opportunity for unrestricted people-watching. Theo was never as into Quidditch as most boys our age seemed to be, and I had worried beforehand that he might get bored. When I noticed the amusement on Theo's face, a part of me relaxed.

In the lowest seats of the Top Box, my twin brother Jim was screaming up a storm, and the Weasleys and Uncle Padfoot were cheering right along with him. I liked the Weasleys well enough, and I loved Uncle Padfoot, but four years after being Sorted into Slytherin, I knew my crowd. They understood.

I wasn't the first person in the Top Box to notice something was wrong, but I believe I was the first to realise the true danger.

Theo pulled his Omnioculars away from his face, drawing my attention. He shivered, though the whole Top Box was within the aegis of a pleasant Warming Charm.

"Do you feel that, Harry?" he asked, leaning back to talk behind Draco's head, a task made simple by the fact the blonde was sitting on the edge of his seat.

I cautiously unveiled my psychic senses. In a crowd as large as this, the background noise of so many magical consciousness functioning in close proximity could drive an unwary practitioner insane, so I had kept my extra senses carefully contained. Now, free once more, I immediately felt what Theo was talking about.

On the opposite side of the stadium, terror was brewing, spreading from person to person, infecting hundreds at once. The magnitude of the emotion, coupled with the empathic links created between people feeling the same thing, meant that the rising panic could not be ignored by anyone with even the slightest psychic ability. Theo was naturally sensitive, but now even Draco was blinking in confusion. A few rows down, Arthur Weasley jerked his head up and started looking around urgently. The oldest two Weasley sons did the same a moment later. Jim and his friends were undistracted by such things, their skills undeveloped.

I pushed my senses outwards urgently, looking for a source. Theo winced at my aggressiveness, hunching his shoulders from the sudden pressure on his mind. Draco looked at me questioningly, his own senses too dull to decipher the sensation completely. Minister Fudge was clapping delightedly at a play made by the Irish.

I stood up, turning slowly from left to right. Some official sitting behind us told me to sit down, but I ignored them. There was something off, something I was missing… it wasn't just about the terror itself, it was about where the terror had begun.

Specifically, it had begun directly across from us, where the crowd would have a clear view of the Top Box.

Some twist of luck or fate made me look upwards, and what I saw took my breath away.

The stadium rose in an enormous, long, bowl shape, with the high rim actually leaning over the seats below. The noise from the crowd was so all-encompassing that I didn't hear the grinding of failing support spells until the cascade failure was already underway. Only the massed sensation of terror, broadcast instinctively by those with the best view of the approaching danger, warned us in time.

The lip of the stadium reached over us and had begun to sag inwards, lurching towards the pitch and showing every sign of crushing everyone below.

A flurry of panic rose in the Top Box as others followed my gaze and alerted neighbours with their screams. Theo, Draco, and the Malfoy parents were standing too by that point. I had my wand out, and without a second thought I pointed it up at the chunk of stadium just as it snapped free and began to fall in earnest.

" _Arresto Momentum!"_ I yelled.

If my spell had any effect on the immense bolide, it didn't show. I felt the strain of the spell hitting its target and trying to enact its effect, only for it to snap in less than a second, my single wand nothing in the face of sheer mass and momentum. Beside me, Theo and Draco cast in unison, following my example. Unfortunately, they followed my example in its entirety by having no visible effect.

What happened next occurred within the span of four seconds, as the screams were rising to ear-piercing death knells and people rushed to do something, anything to get away.

I glanced at Jim, who was frowning up at me. Being at the front of the Top Box meant he was among the very last to see the incoming danger. I seized the eye contact, green merging with green, and slid a strong thought into his head.

 _Cast Arresto Momentum upwards immediately._

The sensation of directly touching his mind felt distinctly greasy and sickening, but I believed it was our only chance for survival. Blood spurted from Jim's nostrils and rolled over his lips, a consequence of my reckless mental invasion.

Jim's wand was out and casting before he even seemed to register the movement. Indeed, I was the only one to notice how utterly surprised Jim was at his moment of heroism.

The stadium had taken five-hundred wizards to build, and that was when they were working from the ground up, with layers of support spells combined with actual support to comply with safety standards. It would take at least five wizards to stop the broken stadium wall from crushing everyone below it. The chances of organising a simultaneous casting in the fifteen seconds or so since I first became aware of the danger were low – and doing so in the five seconds before impact was simply laughable.

Instead, I decided to use the one wizard who possessed more raw magical power than anyone else present.

Jim Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived.

I saw death in the brief second before Jim's spell took hold. Three people splinched themselves trying to Disapparate on instinct alone, one of them fatally so. Two more threw themselves off the sides of the Top Box, perhaps hoping that Cushioning Charms had been placed at the bottom of the stands (there weren't any).

I cast again, this time with Theo and the Malfoy family casting alongside me, reinforcing Jim's spell. The Weasleys followed suit, right down to the youngest, Ginny. Officials and Aurors; journalists and foreign dignitaries, they all rose their wands to the sky and fought to rob Death of his momentum.

In the midst of such a triumphant scene, I heard Ron Weasley cursing loudly, unable to find his wand.

* * *

 **25 August 1994**

 **Early Afternoon**

Potter Manor was an H-shaped villa nestled in the ruggedly beautiful Scottish Highlands. Constructed of cream-coloured limestone and topped by blue-grey tiles, the chateau was within walking distance of the final peak of an august mountain range. The grassy, sharply sloping bluff was capped with stark black rock split with veins of erosion that channelled meltwater down into a narrow river which terminated in a small lake beside the manor.

I waited comfortably in the north-eastern courtyard, facing the lake. Bordered on three sides by the house, the fourth gave the courtyard an uninterrupted view of the mountain, along with the range it belonged to: a staggered line of titanic, craggy silhouettes that broke the distant horizon.

Three comfy sofas sat in the courtyard, shielded from the sun's wintry glare by brilliant crimson parasols. It was comfortably cool outside, at least from the perspective of someone who had grown up here.

I had claimed the centre sofa for myself, reclining with my eyes closed as a charmed book read itself to me in a soft, female voice.

I sensed rather than saw the moment Jim arrived home. As keyed in to the wards as I was, the flare of energy indicative of someone arriving by Floo was impossible to miss. Barely a minute passed between his arrival and the door to the courtyard bursting open.

I stood up to face my brother, sparing a moment to pause my book.

Like reflections in a mirror, we were the same, but different. Our basic features were alike – black hair, green eyes, glasses. The details were where we differed. My hair was short and neat – not to the point of vanity, just enough to keep it out of my face – while Jim's was wild and windswept, beyond any mortal attempt to contain it. My glasses had large, square lenses and a dark, fashionable frame, while Jim favoured small, circular lenses on a wireframe body, in imitation of our late father.

"Keep your mind to yourself," Jim hissed angrily, marching over so he could get in my face. "You're lucky I haven't told anyone what you did."

He looked exhausted from the media circus, so I tempered my response accordingly. "You just saved the Minister for Magic and a whole bunch of Wizengamot members," I reminded him quietly. "Not to mention my life and the lives of my friends. Are you sure you want to throw away that kind of goodwill?"

Jim snarled and shoved past me, heading to the other side of the manor where his room was located.

It has to be said, my brother was my mirror in more than just appearance. While others frequently remarked on my predilection towards remaining calm under any circumstances, so too did they comment, often with amusement, on Jim's propensity for blowing things out of proportion. It wasn't uncommon for my brother to have a public shouting match with one of his friends or housemates over some frivolous disagreement or another (though perhaps that was the puberty more than the person).

Contrarily, to my knowledge Jim had never held a grudge longer than a month, and more often than not he was laughing with the subjects of his ire the day after an argument. Myself, I confess to a certain amount of pettiness; I've never been one to allow an insult to go forgotten except in the most trivial of circumstances. In our own ways, we had afforded ourselves some respect from our peers; I, because the consequences for crossing me were known and I was far more useful as a friend than an enemy, and Jim because would-be detractors were forced to seriously ask themselves if they were prepared for an extended exchange of slander that could last well into the next week.

Sirius, or Uncle Padfoot as we knew him, came out after Jim, wandering over to my sofa with the kind of casual elegance that had broken so many teenage hearts back in the day, if his stories were to be believed. There were a few more lines on his face than there had been back then, but on the whole, our godfather was in his prime.

He smiled at me as he leaned against the sofa. I smiled back. He was one of the few people in the world who knew what I could do, and was okay with it.

"Looks like you got off fairly lightly," Sirius said mildly.

I shrugged one shoulder. "I'm sure being called a hero and being personally thanked by over a hundred people for the past four hours took some of the sting out of what I did."

Sirius snorted. "In case you were wondering, I'm not mad. You did what you did to save everyone. That's fine by me."

A knot of tension that I hadn't even noticed loosened inside me. I sank back into the sofa.

"Mind telling me exactly what you did, though?" Sirius went on. "Jim's been tight-lipped, but I could tell he was upset. And my senses aren't as refined as yours, but I felt you do _something_ to him."

"All I did was send a very strong thought – instructions on how to save us – that his brain interpreted as an urgent, internal impulse. I only managed it because he made eye contact with me, and I'm not sure if I could do it to anyone else. It may have only worked at all because our bodies are so similar, so it was more like telling myself what to do rather than enforcing my will on someone."

Sirius nodded thoughtfully. "Well, let's test it." He knelt in front of the sofa, bringing himself to my eye level. His grey eyes were calm and, dare I say it, serious. "Go on, see if you can make me do something."

I cringed away. "I'd rather not. It wasn't a pleasant sensation."

Sirius accepted that after a moment, standing upright once more before ruffling my hair. Uncle Padfoot was accepting of my differences, but he wasn't above teasing me about them. I tolerated the noogie for precisely three seconds before swatting his hand away. He chuckled.

"I'd better go talk to Jim," said Sirius, glancing at the northern wing of the house where their bedrooms were. "Know anything I could say that might cheer him up?"

I considered the question carefully.

"Try telling him that the impulse I sent him wouldn't have done anything if he wasn't already about to leap into action," I suggested. "That way, it's more like I just showed him the target and he did the rest. With luck, over the next few weeks his memory will adjust the details so that he thinks that's what happened."

"Whatever keeps us from having to deal with Cyclone Jim every moment we're not in public," Sirius said with a shrug. "You did good, Harry. I know you're going to get introspective and end up making yourself feel guilty, but when you do, I want you to remember what I'm saying right now. You did _good._ "

I grinned and gave in to the urge to get up and hug Sirius, who accepted my embrace with quickly-concealed surprise. I generally wasn't one for open displays of affection, but sometimes words weren't enough.

* * *

 **1 September 1994**

 **Early Afternoon**

The Hogwarts Express rolled over the countryside, bending around hills and ducking through the occasional tunnel.

I peered intently at my copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , holding it with my left hand while taking notes with my right.

"This is getting interesting," I murmured.

"What's new?" asked Theo. He sat beside me with his legs crossed, flicking through a copy of _Witch Weekly._ Once upon a time, people had teased him for reading a magazine for women. That had been before I started tutoring him in the Mind Arts. His love of people-watching and natural psychic sensitivity made him deadly in a duel of words. He had an uncanny ability to feel out other people's insecurities.

Draco Malfoy lounged across from us, staring disinterestedly out the window while his girlfriend Pansy told him at length about her summer holidays. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, and Tracey Davis made up the rest of our compartment.

"The Aurors suspect foul play," I told Theo. There was no need to clarify what I was referring to. The Disaster was still at the forefront of everyone's minds. Memorial services had been scheduled for next week to honour the four people who died at the World Cup. I only witnessed three of the deaths – the splinching and the two jumpers – but apparently there had been a fourth at one of the entrances to the stadium. A guard had been standing alone, abandoned by the rest of his squad who had shirked their duty to go and watch the game, and had suffered a heart attack with nobody around to help him. The squad of guards had been fired and were undergoing a public sandblasting by the media, but not as brutally as the regulation monitors who had declared the stadium safe.

Now in the wake of all that, the Aurors had announced their intention to treat the Disaster as a criminal investigation. They didn't provide any reason why, which the columnists took as an excuse to speculate wildly.

"Perhaps they'll cancel it," Draco said idly, interrupting Pansy's exposition. She glared at me for seemingly drawing Draco's attention away from her.

"Cancel what?" I replied, setting the _Prophet_ aside and closing my notebook. It was small enough to fit into a pocket on the inside of my robes.

"Oh, you still haven't been told?" Draco said in mock surprise, turning to face me. His arm automatically went around Pansy's shoulders, an unconscious gesture of apology for interrupting her. She seemed mollified. I sometimes wondered how the hell their relationship worked when he was so rude and she was so annoying, but I rarely wondered it for long in fear of getting a migraine.

Draco smirked. "Well, I wouldn't want to spoil it for you."

I gave him a flat look. He was enjoying having something over me for once. I knew he was still smarting from our first year, when he had expected to rule over Slytherin house due to his father's influence. I had ingratiated myself with his group and spent the first term serving as one of his lackeys, the second term as his second-in-command, and the final term removing any illusions as to who was actually in charge. It had been a fun year.

Our rivalry had turned friendly since then, but Draco still never missed a chance to hold something over my head.

"I know there's a major event happening at Hogwarts this year," I said, refusing to rise to his bait. "I know that the school Quidditch tournament has been cancelled. I know that both Durmstrang and Beauxbatons have spoken of an 'exciting year full of travel and drama'. History denotes these things as signs that a Triwizard Tournament is imminent, but since the Ministry can't possibly be stupid enough to bring _that_ back, I confess to being completely lost."

Draco's smirk faded. Theo laughed lightly, though whether at us or his magazine it was hard to tell.

"So you won't be entering, then?" Draco said, sulking slightly now that his game was over. He drew Pansy close to him like a comfort blanket. Or a stress toy. She seemed pleased either way.

"I've already hit my near-death experience quota for the year," I said dryly.

"Your brother will probably feel differently," said Daphne Greengrass, breaking off a hushed conversation with Tracey Davis.

I eyed Daphne with amusement. She was widely considered to be the most attractive girl in Slytherin, much to the annoyance of older girls. With her midnight-black hair, high cheekbones, and ice-blue eyes, I was a believer. I didn't often let myself fall into fantasies of dalliance, but when I did, Daphne tended to play a leading role.

"My brother," I replied, "is a very brave, very powerful idiot. I guarantee he'll be the first to put his name in the Goblet."

Daphne's lips quirked up in a little smile before Tracey tugged at her sleeve and they resumed their quiet discussion.

"Goblet?" said Draco, frowning.

"Oh, you haven't heard?" I replied. Theo laughed again.

Later in the journey, as the sun sank towards the horizon, I tore my eyes away from the flaming landscape to announce that it was probably time to get changed.

Theo, who had dozed off, blinked awake at my words before stretching languidly and getting to his feet. Draco extricated himself from Pansy's arms, having found a more interesting way to spend a few hours, and started digging through his trunk for his robes. I noticed that Blaise Zabini took a second to register my words, and when he moved it was sluggish and distracted.

We stepped outside into the narrow corridor and waited for the girls to change first, as per tradition. I looked into the compartment across from us. Vince Crabbe and Greg Goyle were comparing notes on something, an open reference book lying between them. I smiled at the sight. Back in their first year, nobody would have believed the two burly boys would become quietly skilled in Charms and Transfiguration, respectively. Once I had supplanted Draco as the leader, it had proven difficult but ultimately rewarding to tutor the pair until they caught up with their studies. The fact that they played along with the 'dumb brute' act even after getting solid grades for the past three years belied a cunning that even I hadn't expected from them.

Blaise leaned against the compartment door, his body angled away from the rest of us, staring pensively at nothing. I made a note to talk to him alone later. Blaise disliked being the centre of attention, preferring to speak only when he had something to say. Or a particularly witty remark to share.

When the girls emerged in their fitted, green-trimmed robes, Daphne touched my arm and kept me from entering with the rest of the boys. Tracey was at her side, as always, but Pansy was always a little separate from the other girls, so she wisely drifted down the corridor a bit to give us room to talk.

"I suppose this has to do with whatever you two have been whispering about all day," I said, folding my arms like a professor about to lecture a couple of troublemakers.

"Perhaps," Daphne said, as though she couldn't care less.

"It's about Daph's little sister," Tracey said, fidgeting with the hem of her robes.

Tracey was so different from Daphne in terms of mannerisms that I sometimes wondered how on earth they became such close friends. While Daphne's eyes were half-lidded and imperious, Tracey's earnest, bright blue gaze and open expression set her apart as easily as if she were a different species. Few Slytherins dared to show the kind of cheer Tracey radiated on a daily basis. In her own way, she was as fascinating as Daphne. I had a niggling suspicion that they both overplayed their public personas a bit, both to distinguish themselves from each other and to throw other people off-balance when they worked together. It was the sort of truly cunning thinking that I had been trying to instil in the group for years, after all.

"Astoria?" I said in surprise. "She's only a year below us, isn't she? I thought she was doing well."

"She is, and she was," Daphne confirmed. "Even after befriending that Weasley girl to the point where they both ended up in Slytherin just so they could continue their friendship."

I smiled at the memory. The rest of the Weasley family had been gobsmacked at their little Ginny wearing green-trimmed robes. I didn't know her personally, but I liked to think my stabilising influence on Slytherin house was one of the reasons she had managed to fit in here without _too_ much drama. The older years were wary of me and generally tried to ignore me, which I was fine with, but the younger years looked up to our group for examples on how to behave, and I hoped what they saw was a group of rational, calm students who exemplified Slytherin virtues without making a caricature of them.

"Was?" I repeated, my smile fading.

Daphne exchanged a look with Tracey.

"She's been acting strange over the last couple of weeks of the holidays," Daphne said slowly. "At times, it seems as though nothing's wrong, but when I try to sit her down for her nightly Occlumency exercises, she avoids me or just pretends to do them. She used to love the challenge, and I'm not sure what's happened to make her hate them."

"Have you asked her?"

Daphne gave me a flat look. "Of course I have. She just says she doesn't want to and makes up excuses to weasel out of the conversation."

"And she seems normal otherwise?"

"Yeah," said Tracey. "I stayed with them for a week and I didn't notice anything was wrong before Daph told me."

"Can you pin down roughly when this behaviour began?" I said, scratching my chin in thought.

"A few days before Trace came over, I think," Daphne said with a little shrug.

"It's possible Astoria delved a little too deeply into her own psyche while doing her exercises that she hit a nerve or a bad memory or something, and that made her fear doing Occlumency again," I suggested. "But just in case, I want you to go through your diary and your memories and make a timeline of everything Astoria was doing back when her behaviour began. Where she went, what she ate, anything you remember."

Daphne nodded.

My head whirled with worst-case possibilities as I entered the compartment and finally got changed. Anything from a psychic parasite to a purely non-magical brain aneurism could be responsible for her aversion to Occlumency. It was, after all, a method of organising one's mind, and if one's mind was being strongly affected by something, organisation would be impossible because one wouldn't have complete dominion.

Statistically, it was probably something small and not at all dangerous, but I tended to get protective when it came to my people, and even though I knew Astoria about as well as I knew Ginny, she was still one of my Slytherins.

* * *

 **Evening at Hogwarts**

I remembered my plan to talk to Blaise as we were getting ready for bed. Draco and Theo finished brushing their teeth before us, and Vince and Greg were in a separate dorm with the other fourth-year boys.

Theo gave me a questioning glance as he left the bathroom, his freshly-washed black locks hanging over his eyes. He was intuitive enough to know that I was deliberately taking my time with my evening ritual. I watched him in the mirror as his eyes flicked over to Blaise and made the connection. He left without a word, trusting me to either tell him later or not at all, depending on the subject matter.

I spat a mouthful of toothpaste into the sink, rinsed my mouth and brush, and turned to look directly at Blaise. He was leaning on his sink, staring at the drain. There was toothpaste on the tip of his toothbrush, but he seemed to have forgotten about it.

"Something on your mind?" I asked quietly.

"My brother died at the World Cup," he replied listlessly.

I blinked. In four years, Blaise had never mentioned having siblings. He noticed my surprise in the mirror. His eyes were uncharacteristically dull.

"Half-brother," he said. "From one of mother's… previous marriages."

I decided not to say anything to that. There was an unspoken agreement in the group not to discuss Blaise's mother's romantic history.

"His name was Graham Stone," Blaise continued after a moment. "He was the guard that had a heart attack outside the stadium while the Disaster was happening." Blaise swallowed. "He was also an Unspeakable."

A cold chill slid down my spine, making icy sparks dance across my nervous system.

My brother Jim and I were two sides of the same coin. We laid next to each other in the same crib thirteen years ago when the next best thing to the Antichrist broke down our door and killed our parents. But something went wrong when he tried to add infanticide to his list of accomplishments, and the Dark Lord exploded along with most of the house. It became apparent soon after that Jim and I had been marked, and those marks reflected an aspect of the Dark Lord that had been cast loose in his destruction… or something. There was still no satisfying explanation for what had occurred that night, but the fact remained that Jim was marked physically, and I was marked… mentally.

Naturally, Sirius took us to St Mungo's right after retrieving us from Godric's Hollow, where we quickly drew the attention of the Department of Mysteries. Since then, Unspeakables had popped up in our lives every so often to test Jim's magical strength and my psychic prowess. Sirius had sworn the first ones to secrecy (by bringing them to their knees in what he described as a 'cathartic duel', considering it wasn't long after he'd lost two of his best friends) and the Department had been our secret observers ever since.

Blaise and Theo were the only friends who were deep enough in my confidence to know these things, so for Blaise to mention that he was related to an Unspeakable was… concerning, to say the least.

Blaise wasn't meeting my gaze anymore, even in the reflection. He turned to the side so I couldn't see his face.

"I didn't meet Graham often, but he was a good man," Blaise said softly. "And more than that, he was young, and fit, and healthy. He shouldn't have had a heart attack in his twenties."

"Is that why the Aurors have decided to treat the Disaster as a criminal act?" I asked.

"It's why the Unspeakables leaned on the DMLE to get the Aurors to make that change, yes. They may be tied up in all sorts of unsavoury problems, but the Unspeakables still look out for their own. They don't like that such a promising young operative was killed in such a blatantly staged way."

Finally, Blaise looked at me head-on, his expression sombre. "It's why they asked me to ask you, on their behalf, to assist them with the investigation."

I blanched. "Are they kidding? I thought they were watching me to make sure I don't adopt the Dark Lord's thought processes. In fact, I thought they'd known for years now that I'm not going down that path – what I've done for Slytherin's reputation should be evidence enough."

Blaise grimaced and went to rub his eyes, only to realise he was still holding his loaded toothbrush.

"Maybe that's why they're asking you," he said. "If you're not going to be the next Dark Lord, then they might as well put your brain to use doing helpful things."

"And are they completely unaware of how manipulative and Dark Lord-ish it is to use your relationship with your brother as emotional bait for me? Why didn't they just ask me upfront?" I bristled.

Blaise held up his hands calmingly. "I don't know. Maybe they wanted to see how you'd react. You know how they are."

I began to pace furiously around the bathroom while Blaise brushed his teeth to give me time to think. My profound annoyance manifested as psychic frost beneath my feet, so that I left a trail of crackling snowflakes in the shape of footsteps. In the dorm, I heard Theo gasp and drop something on the carpet. With a mild effort of will, I reigned in my flaring emotions and reclaimed my inner calm.

Calming exercises had been a part of my life since I was very young, when my tantrums would leave rooms in Potter Manor looking like a miniature blizzard had rolled through. Uncontrolled psychic manifestation could upend furniture, cause localised drops in temperature, and be all-round bothersome to deal with. Over time, my personality developed a _desire_ to remain calm and collected just to avoid making a mess that Sirius would have to clean up. Jim thought I acted aloof because that's what most Slytherins tried to do. He didn't realise I did it to make life easier for everyone else.

Even among friends, I tried not to let my emotions get the best of me. Theo could sense my determination to stay in control every second we spent together, which was one of the reasons he was my closest confidant. Blaise was psychically dull despite his intellect, so when he noticed my frosted footprints, he shrugged it off.

"What form would my assistance take?" I asked, my voice steady.

"They want you to examine the body for trace mental activity," said Blaise. "Personally, I don't see how you'd be able to do that when he died over a week ago, but I guess they know something I don't."

"Magical consciousnesses leave imprints behind. Most of them don't last long, but in a well-trained, organised, disciplined mind? One versed in Occlumency, as Graham was sure to have been?" I smiled grimly. "There might still be something to find."

Blaise looked uncomfortable. "I know this is exactly what they're hoping I'll say to you, but… Harry, if you can find out who killed him and why, I'll… be very grateful."

I nodded. "Looks like we're both dancing on the Unspeakables' strings, because I'll do my best."

* * *

 **The Next Day**

 **After lunch**

I was collected from Hogwarts during a free period after lunch and conveyed by Floo to a temporary operations centre outside the Trillenium Stadium.

Aurors buzzed around the area, and in the distance I saw some journalists taking outside pictures of the collapsed part of the stadium. The air was cold and bitter, and so were most of the people I passed. I was being escorted by Unspeakable Kane, whom I had known since childhood. He was one of the Unspeakables Sirius had beaten into the ground in order to secure a secrecy oath and prevent them from simply carting Jim and I off to be analysed.

Kane was a short man with a hard, lined face and cold grey eyes. His steps carried the impression of grace, like a dancer, or a lion patrolling his territory. Not for the first time, I wondered if he carried a grudge against Sirius after all these years. There was no point asking. I knew the Unspeakables well enough not to take anything at face value.

Kane led me into a large blue pavilion with the flaps folded down to conceal the interior. Inside, in the centre, a corpse lay on a white table. As we neared it, I felt the tingle of preservation charms at work. The body was as fresh as it had been the moment they had gotten a hold of it.

My emotions were so firmly under control that I didn't even blink at the sight of a corpse. The last thing I wanted was for the Unspeakables to see me losing my composure.

"How many Occlumency functions did he possess?" I asked quietly, staring down at the relaxed face of Blaise's half-brother. There wasn't much resemblance.

"Three," Kane replied tersely. "Protection, Memory, and Backup."

Graham's mind had been protected from psychic intrusion, had the ability to selectively memorise information, and could preserve his personality in the event of a catastrophic injury. The first would make my job harder, while the second and third meant that this was very possibly not a waste of time.

I nodded, still looking at Graham Stone's face. I wondered if he had served as a mentor to Blaise, or at least someone to look up to.

"We might as well begin," I said. Kane nodded and ordered the pavilion cleared.

I peeled open Graham's eyelids with cold fingers and stared deeply into them. I found the resemblance to Blaise in the colour of his irises, and it didn't make it any easier.

I fell into Graham's eyes and landed in a dying world.

Endless dunes of black sand shifted beneath my feet. The air was stale and dry. Thousands of bloated flies buzzed through the sky, which was a flickering, sickly yellow, like a failing Lumos spell. Vultures the size of dragons wheeled overhead, their laughing screeches echoing weirdly through the dunes. Rats, mice, and other vermin darted across the sand, their feet leaving tiny tracks that were quickly erased by the transient nature of the desert.

Nearby, I saw the roof of a house that had been nearly completely swallowed in the sand. Dark wood was all that remained above ground, and it was brittle and riddled with fungus.

Flies. Vultures. Vermin. Fungus. This was the magical imprint of a dead human's mind, so it drew from the human concept of decay and ending. A religious person's imprint might look like a white place that slowly grew brighter until it was gone. A bad religious person might have an oncoming firestorm, scorching away the remnants of their personality until it was gone. It seemed Graham Stone had a very grounded view on what awaited after death. Or a very morbid one, depending on the beliefs of the observer.

I walked over to the sunken house. The wooden beams sunk and cracked under my feet as I climbed onto the roof.

"Graham Stone?" I asked, my voice strangely resonant in this mental realm.

A shiver went across the sands, a simultaneous sandfall across thousands of dunes that made a terrible thrumming sound. Scratching noises came from beneath the roof, inside the sunken attic.

"Who's out there?" called a man's voice. "Can you help me? My Backup is working, but my other functions are dead. I've got no way to take control of my body again."

"My name is Harry Potter," I replied.

Silence, then…

"Fuck."

I let him absorb the knowledge and process the implications. His Backup seemed lucid and well-preserved, which made his situation all the more horrifying.

"They got the Alpha Case to come in here to talk to me?" he asked. "Are they kidding?"

"That's what I said." Alpha Case was the codename the Unspeakables had given me, or rather, my situation. Jim was the Omega Case.

"I'm dead, then. No wonder I can't see outside this function." He was very matter-of-fact about his own demise.

"Yes. They think it was foul play."

"It was murder. Let's be clear on that." Graham's voice was firm.

"Murder," I confirmed. "Can you show me what your murderer looked like? Or show me your last memories? Here, such things are possible without the use of a Pensieve."

"I'm aware of that," Graham said dryly. "I'm also aware that to show you anything, I'd have to emerge from my Backup function."

"There's not much point in staying in there," I said plainly, if a little insensitively. "Backup functions work in case of injury or psychic obliteration, so that your personality can be restored when your body and mind are healed by outside sources. You're dead. There's no amount of healing that can change that. I'm looking at your mind right now, and there's not much here to rebuild."

With a heavy sigh that seemed entirely synchronised with the whispering desert, a man appeared in front of me. Alive, Graham Stone seemed completely different to the corpse I'd met a few minutes ago. Animation gave him an undefinable quality that, well, brought him to life. He had a long face topped by scruffy brown hair. His hook-like nose caused him to shift between handsome and ugly depending on the angle the light hit him.

He didn't seem surprised about the surrounding environment, but then, I suppose he wouldn't. This was _his_ conception of death.

I remained silent. Neither of us had much time, but it seemed wrong to interrupt his thoughts at a time like this.

"They want to know who killed me, do they?" said Graham. "Have a look."

A patch of sand beside the roof rose up suddenly into the shape of a man. Grains merged together, melting into fabrics and skin, revealing a wizard with a mop of fair hair and a dash of freckles across his face. His eyes were alight with pleasure as he jabbed his wand forward.

I called up my own Memory function and committed the killer's appearance to my long-term memory. The sensation felt like an unpleasant weight was stuck in the middle of my head, like an indigestion of the mind, but I wanted to be absolutely certain I would be able to recreate the image. The uncomfortable feeling would fade the next time I entered a deep sleep.

"Don't ask what spell he used," Graham said mildly. "It was non-verbal. I felt a tightness in my chest and turned to see him like that. I barely got inside my Backup in time."

"Can you show me the scene in its entirety?" I asked.

Graham frowned. The sand around the killer rippled and rose up into lumps that fell apart. He sighed. "Guess I can't. This is all I can manage. You weren't kidding about there not being much left of this place."

"Can you tell me why an Unspeakable was serving as a door guard?"

"The boys in Divination warned of a non-trivial chance of something big happening at the World Cup. I was inserted into a guard detail, and a few others were scattered in the crowd. What happened, anyway? I doubt my death was big enough to register."

"Part of the stadium collapsed and almost took out the Top Box, which included the Minister for Magic and a few powerful Wizengamot members. And me, I suppose."

Graham laughed bitterly. "It's never what you expect, is it? Did anyone die?"

"Four, including you. But not from the collapse. Two jumped off the Top Box and one guy splinched himself to death."

Graham winced. "I got off lucky."

I looked around at the barren landscape. "That's one way to look at it. Can you remember anything else that might be useful?"

Graham started to shake his head, then paused. "He was… powerful. Magically and mentally. When I sensed someone coming up behind me, for a moment I thought it was you and your brother."

My eyebrows hit my hairline. "Really?"

"Yeah." Graham turned away and stared into the distance. He seemed to be in a reflective mood.

"I… have some questions of my own, if that's okay," I said reluctantly.

Graham sighed, looking over his shoulder at me. "Is this where you reveal to me that you've been playing us for fools this whole time, and you really are planning to be the new Dark Lord?"

"Since there's no chance of anyone overhearing this conversation, and _really_ no chance of you sharing it with another Unspeakable, I feel confident I can tell you the truth." I leaned closer menacingly. "You want to know of my plans?" I whispered.

Graham nodded, eyeing me warily.

I smiled wickedly and began to circle him, adding a bit of cocky swagger to my step.

"You fools," I murmured. "All this time, all these years, and none of you even saw a glimpse of my true plan."

Graham turned with me, not letting me out of his sight.

"Not the Unspeakables, not my professors, not my brother, not even _dear_ Uncle Padfoot have any idea what's coming." I let a breathy excitement inflect my voice. "In all your wildest nightmares, did you ever imagine that I would one day… _take my O. one year early?!_ "

I threw my arms out to my sides and let loose a howling laugh that echoed across the black desert around us. The sound bounced around and became distorted due to the strange properties of this place, until I was part of a chorus of madmen proclaiming their genius to the heavens.

My arms flopped back down, and my glorious laughter became a more natural sniggering. I didn't get to cut loose like that in the real world very often, so it felt good to let some of my inner silliness out. We Slytherins could be so serious all the time, and I had a reputation to maintain. Some might argue that venting in another man's dying mindscape was tactless, but I believed there was no time like the present.

Graham looked shocked at my outburst.

"W-What?" he said. "You… In all the files I've read on you – the Alpha Case – I've never seen one that mentioned you being anything other than mild-mannered."

"Yeah?" I laughed. "Well here's my deep, Dark secret, Graham: I'm just a goddamn kid. I grew up with constant love and support from my godfather, and sometimes even my brother. I've got friends I'd give the world for, and if another Dark Lord rises, I'll rally them behind me and put him in the fucking ground." I clasped my hands behind my back. "Graham, I'm the _good guy._ "

Graham stared at me, slack jawed. He wiped a hand over his face. "God, if the other guys in the Department saw you like this, they'd lose their minds. Do you have any idea how scared they are of what you can do?"

"I do now," I said cheerfully.

Graham let out an involuntary snort of laughter.

"Bloody hell," he muttered. "Alright. Ask your questions."

I paused to think for a few seconds. The lightened mood faded as quickly as vermin tracks in the sand.

"Unspeakable Kane," I said.

Graham nodded. "My boss." He frowned. "Former boss, I guess."

"Does he want revenge against Sirius for what went down all those years ago?" I asked.

"I don't know," Graham replied slowly. "I don't think things like 'revenge' matter to him. From what I've heard from older Unspeakables, he's basically… well, we call him the Djinn."

"Djinn? As in, genie?"

"Yeah. Because he doesn't hold grudges, doesn't get emotional, and never breaks his word."

I raised an eyebrow. "Djinn are supposed to do _all_ of those things. They're the least trustworthy beings in the world. That's why wizards have to stuff them into lamps or bottles to get them to do what they want."

Graham smiled weakly. "That's the joke. Unspeakable codenames are always the opposite of the person they're assigned to."

"What was yours?"

Graham coughed. "Elder Dragon."

I whistled softly in sympathy. "Ancient, powerful, and unfathomably intelligent."

"Young, untested, and maybe a little naïve," Graham translated, but he was smiling as he did. It was odd to think of the Unspeakables as people who were capable of teasing each other like any other coworkers.

I decided to capitalise on the good feelings I had accidentally inspired.

"May I ask you about your brother, Blaise? You have the same mother, don't you?"

It backfired.

"I don't want to talk about that whore," Graham spat. "Or her latest brat."

I was taken aback by the vehemence in his voice. "Why?"

"Why don't I want to talk about my mother who has gone through seven husbands like you go through pairs of glasses? Why don't I want to talk about the seven children she had, one for each husband, each one abandoned when they turned out below her expectations? Take a fucking guess, Potter!"

I licked my lips. I had to be careful here. Dying, he might be, but I didn't want to find out how much power he still had in this place by riling him up.

"Blaise is your half-brother, no matter what you think of your shared mother," I said quietly. "He was saddened by your death. He described you as fit, powerful, capable. I think he looked up to you."

Graham was silent for almost a minute.

"Blaise," said Graham. There was a sadness in his voice that weighed as much as a planet. "He seemed bright, the few times we met. I taught him a few tricks they don't teach you in school. I felt sorry for him. He's the success, you see. Our mother's finest work, after six failed attempts."

"Attempts to do what?"

"To create a wizard who cannot be touched by the Mind Arts. You've noticed, haven't you? You're the Alpha Case, the kid with the potential to be the most powerful known practitioner in the world. But you can't touch Blaise's mind, can you? And I bet he doesn't even notice when you try."

I hesitated. I'd known that Blaise was psychically dull, but I'd never imagined it was by design.

"But why would she want a child who can't be touched by the Mind Arts? For that matter, _how_ did she create one?"

"A never-ending supply of willing dupes, some old magic, and a hatred for the Mind Arts that could eclipse the sun if it manifested," Graham said plainly.

"Why does she hate them?"

"How should I know? I'm just a failed prototype!" Graham roared, the intensity knocking me back a few steps. A brief sandstorm rose around the sinking house, which I noticed had dropped by half a metre during our conversation.

Something broke in Graham's composure and he clutched at the back of his neck, fidgeting and trembling. "Fuck, man. God, I don't want this. I haven't even done anything. I was going to – I was planning on… God! Fuck!" He covered his head with his arms to block out the sight of the desert.

I hesitantly walked over to Graham and touched his shoulder. He shrugged my hand off and uncovered his face. Angry tears rolled down his cheeks.

"Goddamn it, I'm not going out begging for comfort from the fucking Alpha Case!" he snarled.

"I won't think any less of you," I promised.

"No, fuck that, I refuse." Graham pushed away from me and paced around the rotting rooftop. He was blustering. I knew it, and so did he. I couldn't blame him. I'd rather be angry than scared if I were in his position.

"What about the other way, then," I suggested softly. "Once I leave, they won't have any reason to maintain the preservation spells. Your imprint won't last long when decomposition begins. But you'll be alone the whole time. I could… put a timer on it. One millisecond after I leave, for example. There won't be any time to dwell. There won't be any waiting."

Graham stared at me, his expression pained. He shook his head in a sudden, jerking motion.

"No. No, I'll… wait it out. I want to see what happens," Graham said.

He was, if not lying, then not entirely sure in his answer. I didn't call him on it. Here, at the end of a man, the end of a mind, I would have granted him anything within my power. Never before had I felt so humbled by the nature of mortality.

Graham's shoulders shook as he turned away from me. "Fuck off," he whispered hoarsely.

"You'll be remembered, Graham. When we find your killer, we'll –"

"I said FUCK OFF!" Graham roared, spinning to glare at me with bloodshot eyes, spittle hanging from his lips.

I withdrew myself immediately. I hoped he would hang on to that defiance, that fury. I couldn't imagine what the end would look like from his perspective, but I hoped it was quick.

Kane was waiting for me as I collected myself. My back ached from leaning over the table, and I felt hungry despite my surroundings.

"Phial?" I said. Small talk was pointless with Kane, and I didn't want to show weakness.

Kane passed one over, a tiny thing made of crystal. I pressed my wand to my head and withdrew a copy of the perfectly-preserved memory of Graham's killer.

"Spell was non-verbal," I said, passing the phial back. "Graham said the killer was so magically and mentally potent that he thought it was my brother and I for a moment."

Kane's eyebrows twitched. It was the same as another man gasping in shock.

"Yeah, that was my reaction too," I said.

"Anything else?"

"Nothing you don't already know."

Kane snorted. "Meaning you asked your own questions."

"What Slytherin wouldn't?" I said simply. "I'm not your tool, Djinn. Keep me updated, and next time, ask nicely if you want my help."

I turned my back on Kane and left the pavilion.

* * *

 **Evening in the Common Room**

I was late getting back to the castle so I missed the final class of the day. Fortunately, it was History of Magic, so nothing of value was lost.

I could tell my friends, bar Blaise, were curious as to where I'd been all afternoon, but I decided to keep things vague for Blaise's sake. I knew he was still feeling guilty over being manipulated into asking me to help the Unspeakables, and doubly so about concealing his Unspeakable half-brother from me. I had my own questions to ask him, mainly about his mother, but after today's events, I didn't feel like getting into it.

We sat comfortably in our corner of the common room, a selection of four sofas in an alcove with its own small hearth. I leaned on the armrest, staring into the flames. Theo sat beside me, occasionally glancing in my direction. Blaise was alone on the opposite sofa, his untouchable mind as distant and unreadable as his expression. Draco and Pansy were sprawled on a third sofa, the former dozing while the latter carried on a soft, one-sided conversation. Daphne and Tracey sat on the final sofa beside Greg and Vince, both inseparable pairs quietly discussing their manifold plans and secrets. I wondered how I could feel so comfortable among people with such secretive, careful natures, but then I reminded myself that I was part of the reason they possessed those natures in the first place.

"For God's sake, Harry, stop being so mopey," said Daphne, glancing away from Tracey for a moment.

"It's called being deep in thought," I replied.

"Well, you've spent all evening _deep in thought_. Are you planning to share any of those thoughts with us?"

"Let's go for a walk, Daphne," I said impulsively. I got to my feet and held out my hand.

She blinked at my hand and I enjoyed the fact I had caught her by surprise. Wordlessly, she allowed me to help her up and lead her out of the common room.

With my senses being what they were, there was no fear of running into patrolling teachers, prefects, or ghosts, so once we had climbed out of the dungeons and into the castle proper, we settled into a leisurely stroll. At some point, without my urging, Daphne let go of my hand and slid her arm through mine in the traditional way.

"This isn't a romantic walk," I clarified quietly.

"Is it ever?" Daphne replied, her smooth voice echoing a little in the darkened corridors.

I glanced tiredly at her. She met my eyes challengingly. After a moment, I faced forward again. I could have sensed Daphne's satisfaction even if I had as little mental ability as Jim.

"I assume whatever is bothering you is related to your mysterious excursion after lunch?" she went on.

"You assume correctly."

"And I also assume it involves the secrets of multiple people, which is why you're having so much trouble figuring out how much to tell us?"

I nodded reluctantly.

"Well, pardon me if I wander past my status as your presumed concubine, but it seems as though you should keep all of it secret until it becomes relevant to us." Daphne's tone was laced with needles that almost made me wince. Just as Vince and Greg were presumed to be dolts, so too was Daphne's loyalty to me presumed to be something more. The fact that I wasn't opposed to the idea only muddied the waters.

"How's Astoria?" I said.

Daphne smirked at the obvious change of subject, but she let it slide. "The same as always. Like I told you on the train yesterday, she seems completely normal until you try to get her to practice her Occlumency."

"I'm concerned, Daphne."

We stopped walking in one of the outer corridors. A nearby window cast a blade of moonlight between us. Daphne watched me, her head tilted, her eyes sparkling.

"Concerned about what?" she asked.

"There are things happening that I can't explain. There are actors moving that I can't detect. There are factors changing that I can't predict."

"You're not omniscient, Harry."

"No," I agreed. "But you can't deny I have a good sense for knowing when things are about to go completely awry."

Daphne smiled. "I'll grant you that." She turned to look out the window at the rippling forest below. "So how long do we have before the next calamity?"

"Well," I sighed, leaning against the stone window frame. "Filch will be here in eight minutes. Beyond that, I have no idea."

* * *

 _ **subvert**_

1.

to overthrow (something established or existing).

2.

to cause the downfall, ruin, or destruction of.

3.

to undermine the principles of; corrupt.

* * *

 **A/N: Please let me know if you want to read more!**


	2. Footsteps in the Mind

**Chapter 2: Footsteps in the Mind**

 **7 September 1994**

 **The Library**

The announcement of the Triwizard Tournament had rocked the school a few days earlier, but despite the sense of anticipation that permeated the castle, I found myself preoccupied with research and endless pondering over recent events. It was an admittedly anti-social habit of mine, but my friends knew me well enough not to take offence when I ignored their conversations.

Daphne came to me in the evening during one such ponderous session and snapped me out of my thoughts by dropping a little notebook on the table in front of me. We were in the library, and I had told my friends to go to bed ahead of me.

"What's this?" I asked, giving the notebook a cursory pulse with my mind to check for enchantments. It seemed to be entirely ordinary.

"You asked that I create a timeline of events in Astoria's life centred around when she first became reticent to do her Occlumency exercises," Daphne said primly. "I have spent the last couple of days consulting Draco's Pensieve in order to make it as detailed and accurate as possible."

I flicked through a few pages and raised an eyebrow at the amount of minutia included, right down to shameless descriptions of intimate details about Astoria's personal health and private affairs, as seen from Daphne's point of view. The notebook was both a breach of Astoria's trust and a sign that Daphne was far more concerned about her sister than she let on.

I sensed a combination of anxiety and satisfaction behind Daphne's cool expression. She didn't want to give me such intricate knowledge of her sister, but she couldn't trust anybody else.

I met her eyes. "Thank you, Daphne. Once we've determined the cause of Astoria's problem, we'll burn this book."

Daphne nodded.

"Has there been any change in her condition?" I asked, moving my previous work aside in order to study the notebook more closely. Dropping everything to work on helping Daphne's sister was the only appropriate response to being shown such a level of trust.

"None. Both Tracey and I have spoken to her a couple of times since term started, but she's the same as any other kid. She's excited about the Triwizard Tournament, disappointed about the age limit – though I doubt she would enter even if she could, the little boaster – and shows absolutely no signs of being afflicted by something. I even cast a few discrete medical spells to check her out, but they came back with nothing. Well, nothing except tiredness, but that's more to do with her staying up late chatting with Weasley than anything else."

"Tiredness," I repeated. "When did you first notice she was more tired than usual?"

Daphne sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have mentioned that. Look, she stays up late all the time, reading or chatting with her friends. That's _normal_ behaviour for her, especially now that she's getting older and has come out of her shell a bit more."

I made a note of it anyway. My eyes flitted down every page, plucking noteworthy information from the ink like a gardener picking his favourite flowers. My promise to burn the book after the mystery was solved was meaningless in the sense of preserving Astoria's privacy. I rarely forgot things that I was actively studying, and my brain was impervious to Obliviation. No matter what, these intimate details would remain with me. That was the true sacrifice Daphne was making as a sister – the knowledge that she had sullied the bond between herself and Astoria.

Like Graham Stone's final moments, Daphne's actions resonated within me. Betrayal and endings were two things that always struck an emotional chord. My parents had met their end due to the inconceivable betrayal of a close friend, and having heard the tale from Sirius, seeing the disbelief, the rage, and infinite sadness that accompanied reliving such painful memories had solidified both concepts in my mind as tragic beyond words.

"I'll continue to process this," I told Daphne.

* * *

 **10 September 1994**

 **Hogsmeade Trip**

The first indication that something was wrong took the form of a man smoking a cigarette outside the Hog's Head Inn.

We were on the first Hogsmeade weekend of the year, trudging through the little village with all the gusto of people who had long since exhausted all the things there were to do. This early in the year, there was no snow to grant the squat cottages and shops a welcoming, holiday atmosphere. There were no candles hanging in the branches, no Christmas trees bathing passers-by in enchanted light, and the only emotion I felt was mild boredom, which was perhaps why my gaze was drawn to the smoking man.

There was nothing unusual about the cigarette itself. It was of a standard design and from the scent was packed with tobacco. The puffs of smoke that he exhaled into the air were grey and unremarkable.

That was the problem.

Smoking wasn't uncommon in the Wizarding World, but never in my life had I seen a wizard smoke a Muggle cigarette. There were all sorts of magical leaves and devices that could produce better highs for less risk, so why would a wizard choose cigarettes? It would have been easy to brush it off, but I wasn't one for blissful ignorance.

"Pendants on," I murmured to my friends. They didn't react in any obvious way, but I sensed the sudden tension in their bodies. One by one, they drew glinting metal pendants from their pockets and bags and slipped them around their necks. Only Theo and Blaise didn't have one, the former because he didn't need it, and the latter because it wouldn't work with him.

We wandered casually into Honeydukes, appearing for all the world as just another group of students indulging their sugar addiction. While the others chatted loudly and drew the owner's attention, I slipped down into the cellar and opened the secret passage back to Hogwarts.

Alone in the dark, I Disillusioned myself and sat on the dusty floor in the lotus position.

I unveiled my senses, and my mind soared.

* * *

Jim Potter slammed back the rest of his butterbeer and rose to visit the restroom.

At the table he just left, Ron, Dean, and Seamus were laughing raucously at a dirty joke shared by Madam Rosmerta as she refilled their drinks. The air in the Three Broomsticks was warm and cheerful, though it was getting a bit stifling since every new arrival instinctively cast their own Warming Charm upon entering. Every now and then, Madam Rosmerta would complain loudly about living in an oven and go around the room badgering all the newest patrons into cancelling their spells.

Jim was in a rather chipper mood, tossing a wink at some seventh-year Hufflepuff girls and making them giggle. One of them tugged his cheek as he passed. The Disaster at the World Cup had pressed on his mind like a lead helmet, stifling his joy at being back at Hogwarts. He was only just getting back into the swing of things, and while he lamented the lack of Quidditch this year, the Triwizard Tournament had been a welcome surprise. In it, he saw a chance to finally set himself apart from his brother.

Jim's feelings towards his brother were… complicated. Sometimes Harry did things that made Jim think they weren't so different, while other times it seemed like Harry's sole purpose in life was to infuriate him. If only Harry had been in Gryffindor. If only he didn't have his… mind-thing. Hell, Jim wouldn't have even minded if Harry shared the same magical strength as him. At least then they'd be a proper team, rivals and brothers all in one. Jim often thought about Uncle Padfoot's stories, and lamented the fact that Harry was not the Padfoot to Jim's Prongs.

But if Jim sometimes wished he was closer to Harry, that desire usually faded upon spending a few minutes in the twat's presence.

Upon responding to the call of nature and exiting the restroom, Jim received a mouthful of bushy brown hair. He gagged and recoiled, and the girl he'd collided with jumped in surprise.

"Sorry, I – oh, it's you, Potter," said Hermione Granger as she turned around. She was wincing and holding one hand to her head.

"Granger," said Jim, frowning. "Are you okay? I should have been watching where I was going."

"No, this isn't because of you," she replied distractedly.

Jim glanced around but saw no immediate culprit. He knew Granger got bullied sometimes for being friends with Neville Longbottom, but he didn't think anyone had jinxed her in years.

"Who was it?" he asked. She wasn't a friend, but she was certainly a Gryffindor, and he looked out for his own.

"No, it's, ugh," she gritted her teeth, "Psychic backwash."

Jim put his hands out in exasperation. "Which is?"

"Listen, I'm fairly certain I'm the strongest Mind Arts user in the school," Granger said seriously. "I have two Occlumency functions at age fifteen, if that means anything to you."

Jim stared at her blankly. She huffed impatiently. "It's impressive, alright? What I'm trying to say is I'm pretty sure there's someone in Hogsmeade who is significantly more powerful than I am. Normally, like with Professor Snape and the headmaster, people with that level of skill keep their ability hidden so they don't affect the people around them. But now," she said with another wince, "Someone on that level has allowed much of their power to show. They wouldn't do that without a reason."

The moment Jim understood what she was talking about, his blood ran cold. Sirius had told him privately of the effort Harry expended every single day in order to keep his gift contained. A needle of adrenaline pierced Jim's heart. He needed to find Harry, just in case – damn it, in case Harry needed to use him to save a bunch of people again. It burned that his brother could use him like a tool, but what was more important, his pride or the lives of innocents?

Jim took Granger by the shoulders and leaned closer. She looked up at him warily, her face tense with pain.

"Can you tell what they are doing?" he asked quietly. "The powerful person, I mean."

"What? Why would I – I'm mainly trying to reduce my own psychic presence as much as possible to block out the sensation. I have no desire to actually try and _engage_ with them!"

"I'm not asking you to fight him," Jim rolled his eyes. "Just tell me where he is and what he's doing if you can."

"Him?" Granger said in surprise. "You know who it is?" Before he could issue a quick denial, she gasped. "Your brother? The Slytherin?"

Jim let go of her, stepping back. "What?" he feigned. "I didn't say anything. I don't know who it is."

"I'm sorry, Potter, but I saw the truth in your surface thoughts," Granger said, managing an apologetic look despite her strain.

"That's illegal," Jim snarled.

"You were _this_ close to me while I was actively utilising my ability," Granger said defensively. "I didn't do it on purpose, but that's like slapping someone in the face with a classified document and then getting upset that they caught a few words."

Jim grinded his teeth. "Whatever. Can you tell me where he is? Is he in danger?"

"Give me a moment, will you? This conversation would be much easier if I wasn't being distracted." She jammed her eyes shut and stood stock-still for a few seconds. Jim watched restlessly, fascinated despite himself by the sudden calm that overtook Granger's expression.

She opened her eyes and took a deep breath. "That's better."

"What did you do?"

"I was running my Thought function while trying to do exercises to prepare for a third function, and I didn't have the focus necessary to activate my Protection function to shield my mind from your brother's backwash. I disabled the former, ceased the exercises, and am now focusing entirely on the latter," she informed him clinically. Noting the confusion on Jim's face, she added, "Occlumency. Look into it."

"Can we focus on what matters here? Why is Harry doing his thing?"

Granger frowned at nothing. "Now that I can think clearly, it seems as though he's combing the village for something. Searching. He must have noticed me during the search regardless of my attempts to block him out, but I suppose I'm not the one he's looking for." Her inquisitive brown eyes sharpened as she met Jim's gaze. "Would you be offended if I asked why your brother is like this?"

"Not here," Jim muttered, glancing around.

"I cast a privacy charm when I saw your thoughts," Granger said with a smirk.

Jim glared at her. "You said you were distracted."

"Not _that_ distracted. Besides, I was using my Thought function, so I was thinking a few steps ahead."

"For God's sake, can you tell me where Harry is? I get enough smugness from him, I don't need it from my own house."

"I can't tell where he is," Granger shrugged. "The only reason I think he's searching is because his power is coming in pulses, like sonar, or a search light."

Jim brushed past her and stepped out of the Three Broomsticks. He didn't want to drag his friends into a fight of the scale that would require Harry's interference. Annoyingly, Granger followed him.

"You don't know where he is, so where are you going?" she asked with amusement.

"Looking for trouble," he replied, not looking at her. "If Harry's letting some of his… _mental stuff_ spill out, then like you said – it's not for shits and giggles."

"I didn't say it _quite_ like that," murmured Granger, but she kept pace with him. Her bushy hair bobbed with every step.

* * *

I swept my mind through Hogsmeade, passing down the main street, washing through every alley like a flood, filling every gap. It was my fourth pass and I was frustrated.

+Daphne, check if the smoking man is still outside the Hog's Head.+

The pendants my friends wore were made of mithril, the living metal. Velvet blue in colour, the pendants were shaped like lightning bolts to create a sympathetic link with me, allowing me to see through the wearer's eyes and speak to them with my mind. While only my brother bore the scar that made him famous, I figured that my own scar was likely mental in nature, and if it had a physical shape it would probably be the same as Jim's. With that in mind, in my second year I privately commissioned a set of mithril pendants and distributed them to my inner circle.

I saw through Daphne's eyes as she walked quickly through the village, passing by a casually loitering Theo, who nodded at her. Theo was a special case in that I didn't need the connection of a pendant in order to see through him. The Nott heir was so psychically sensitive, not to mention so receptive to me, that I could reach him so long as he was within range.

Daphne reached the side street that led to the Hog's Head, and I saw the man was gone before she had time to say anything.

"Maybe he just left?" she murmured.

+No,+ I responded. +I don't like this at all. I'm spreading the others through the village to try and watch every angle. Go meet my brother near Madam Puddifoot's. He knows something's wrong and I need you to keep him from interfering.+

Daphne changed her course without replying. I continued my search.

* * *

Jim peered into every alley they passed. The lane that led to Madam Puddifoot's was empty of everything except couples holding hands and snogging in alcoves. He was getting antsy now, convinced that something was going down and he was missing the big picture.

"You don't even know what you're looking for," Granger said for the third time. She had followed his frantic search with bemusement. "If you told me more about your brother, I might be able to discern the context for his psychic sweep."

"Not. Now," Jim grunted.

A spell impacted the ground in front of him. Jim dived and rolled, coming to his feet with his wand out. Granger leapt backwards with a little shriek. In an instant, Jim clocked the attacker, a man in black robes, standing in the gap between two houses on the edge of the side street, with the Shrieking Shack framed in the distance behind him.

"Granger, run!" Jim roared, flying into a strong duelling pattern of stunners and body-binds. The man was forced to take cover, and when Jim kept up the onslaught, he turned and ran towards the Shrieking Shack. The field of vision from Jim's position prevented him from getting a clear shot, so he bolted to the gap and charged into the open, casting a few harrying spells after the assailant to keep him from feeling safe.

* * *

+Where? I can't see him.+

"Use my eyes, for God's sake, I can see them running for the Shack!" Daphne panted as she reached the gap that the combatants had darted through just as she entered the side street. The only students nearby were those inside Madam Puddifoot's or its designated snogging corners, and if any of them had noticed the commotion, they had quickly forgotten it.

Through Daphne, I saw the relative positions of Jim, Hermione, and the man they were chasing across the open ground between the village and the shack. I passed my mind over the area that should have contained the unknown man's psychic presence, but there was nothing there. It was empty air.

+Daphne, it must be an illusion. I can't sense the man. It's a trap.+

"As though that wasn't already obvious," she snapped.

* * *

Outside the shack, the man turned to face Jim, but his first spell went wide. Jim followed it with his eyes and noticed Granger running behind him for the first time. Her wand flew out of her hand, but she just looked even more irritated. A fierce, focused expression overcame her face, and Jim felt the temperature drop by several degrees. But suddenly, her ferocity was replaced with shock, which turned to blankness as a red Stunning Spell slammed into her chest.

Jim focused his attention on the man once more. He didn't stop to question why Granger had been targeted instead of him. It was duel or die time.

But he was denied. The attacker fled once more, this time into the shack proper, slamming the front door behind him. Jim was in no mood for a siege. He blasted the door off its hinges and barrelled into the living room.

Silence greeted him.

A tomb of brittle wood and shredded furniture, with deep claw marks on nearly every surface. Jim's eyes strained to make out the dark interior clearly after spending the whole afternoon in daylight.

Damn it, what was that spell for revealing if anyone was present? Something Revelio?

A stifled sneeze carried from the other side of the house.

 _That works too._

Jim ducked through a shadowed doorway, slicing his arm open on a bent nail in the process, and advanced deeper into the decaying building.

* * *

"Not an illusion, then," Daphne breathed heavily as she passed Granger's unconscious body.

+I can't see inside the shack. It must still be shielded from when… it was used for another purpose. Don't go inside.+

Instead, Daphne peeked through the boards that covered the front window – and immediately saw the runner. He was kneeling next to an internal doorway, siphoning blood from a rusty nail sticking out of the frame. There was no sign of Jim. The glint of a crystal vial caught her eye before he tucked it away and spun to leave, nearly spotting her before she ducked beneath the windowsill.

+He has to get outside to Disapparate. Take him! Take him now!+

The man appeared in the doorway, and Daphne didn't hesitate to send a powerful Knockback Jinx straight into his chest, blasting him back into the room and causing the whole house to shudder and creak.

Daphne strode inside and found she had knocked the man through a rotting door on the opposite side of the entryway, and there were sounds of fighting coming from the room beyond.

* * *

By the third sneeze, Jim realised he was being corralled. Each noise had brought him further round the shack until now he was standing on the complete opposite side of the building, with only a brittle, pale door between him and the entrance room.

 _Damn it! He circled around the other way to escape!_

In a rare, unexpected stroke of luck, the very man Jim wished to see came hurtling through the door, smashing it into jagged pieces and knocking Jim down in the process. For a surprise attack, it was surprisingly uncoordinated – both he and Jim thrashed wildly at each other, trying to get to their feet.

The man was bigger and stronger than Jim, but his wand had gone flying in the impact. Jim, on the other hand, had kept hold of his, but couldn't bring his arm around to aim it properly. His free hand scrabbled at the floor beside him, seizing a piece of broken door and slamming it into the man's side. There was a muffled shattering sound, like glass breaking, and the man roared, though whether in pain or annoyance Jim couldn't tell.

The man rolled them over and slammed Jim beneath him, pressing down and using his superior weight and muscle to crush Jim against the floor. In a panic, Jim grabbed the man's necklace, a tattered looking piece of rope with a long tail like a business tie. He pulled at it, but all it did was increase the pressure.

Jim pretended to lose consciousness, letting his body relax and his eyes close. The man immediately ceased, and for one moment, the pressure eased enough to allow Jim's wand hand to manoeuvre around. He Stunned the man so hard he flew back into the entrance room, straight through the doorway he had just cleared.

Jim lay on the floor for a minute, panting. Eventually, with a pained groan, he pushed himself upright.

The scuffle of feet on wood Jim spin around, his wand outstretched.

"Potter," murmured Daphne Greengrass as she stepped into the shack.

Jim averted his wand. He wasn't exactly _happy_ to see the Slytherin, but it was better than an enemy.

"What are _you_ doing here?" Jim hissed, stepping into the entrance room with Daphne and the unconscious assailant.

"For some reason, your brother wants to keep you alive. He sent me to ensure it," Daphne replied icily. She cocked her head, seeming to listen to something Jim couldn't hear.

Jim noticed the mithril pendant hanging from her pale neck and realised. He'd had the unfortunate privilege of watching Harry practice with his friends at Potter Manor, conducting puzzle-solving and teamwork exercises with inhuman precision.

Daphne sighed. Jim looked at her curiously.

"Will you put this on for a moment?" she asked, fingering her pendant. "Harry wants to speak to you."

"No," Jim said instantly. "I've seen the kind of tricks he can play through those things. I'm never letting him control me again if it isn't absolutely necessary."

Daphne rolled her eyes as though he was being childish, instead of very, very sensible. "No, it's fine," she said, and Jim realised she wasn't talking to him anymore. "Go ahead."

Suddenly, her pendant began emitting a low hum, like an open radio frequency. Beads of corposant sizzled and slid along the edges of the lightning bolt, occasionally spitting flecks of ghostly fire like a torch shedding sparks. Jim gritted his teeth and steeled his nerves. His own psychic ability was below-average, a candle beside his brother's firestorm, but he could still sense the sympathetic magic at work.

Daphne's eyes widened for a moment, and ice-blue became bright green. Her casual, flaunting posture, with her chest out and one hand on her hip, straightened into a neutral stance with both hands clasped in front. Her expression smoothed into a smile that Jim could have placed anywhere.

"Hello, brother," said Daphne/Harry. Her voice was unchanged, but the inflection was so not-Daphne that it sent it a shiver down Jim's spine.

"I hate it when you do that," Jim spat, hiding his revulsion behind anger. "Don't your friends get tired of you wearing them like a suit?"

"I don't do this nearly as often as you seem to think, Jim. This is an emergency, in case you hadn't noticed."

It was incredibly disturbing seeing Harry's expressions interpreted by Daphne's facial muscles. Everything seemed slightly off, like a song being played on an instrument that was tuned for a different kind of music.

Daphne/Harry bent over the man's crumpled body and began a thorough inspection. "I need to examine him before anyone can contaminate the scene," she/he explained.

Jim shifted his feet, torn between wanting to rush off and report the incident and waiting to see Harry's conclusion.

Daphne's fingers deftly opened every pocket in the man's robes, inside and out. She glanced at a rectangular box and made a soft noise of satisfaction, then replaced it. Inside one pocket was a bloodstain and a broken crystal vial. Then she stood and waved her wand, turning the man's clothes transparent.

"Really?" Jim said with disgust, turning his head away.

"Just being thorough," Daphne/Harry replied. Daphne's wand rolled the man over so his back was visible. "And it's a good thing I was."

Jim looked despite himself, raising a hand to shield the sight of the man's rear. He noticed Harry's discovery at once: tattoos covered the man's entire back, lines of foreign writing followed by 'two hundred galleons' inked in bold letters.

"What does it mean?" Jim asked.

"It's a ransom," Daphne/Harry said, making the man's clothes opaque once more. "Specifically, it dictates that this man is nothing more than hardware, like a sword or a cannon, and that his masters will pay the flat amount of two hundred galleons to have him returned in good condition. If he is damaged to the extent that he cannot be repaired and is unable to fight, the ransom is void and his fate is in the hands of his capturers."

"What the hell?"

"He's from a mercenary company in Eastern Europe that employs Muggleborns."

"How do you know that?"

"I won't bore you with every deduction, but the writing was Russian and he's clearly of Slavic descent. The brand of cigarette is local, however, so he's been here long enough to settle in. The label on his robes is local too, but the shirt beneath is not. I bet he thought he was being careful."

Jim ran a hand over his face. His brother almost sounded _disappointed_ by the mercenary.

"I'm calling the Aurors right now," said Jim.

"Wait. What are you holding?"

Jim glanced at the torn black rope dangling from his fingers. "His weird necklace. It broke off when I Stunned him." He tossed it to Daphne/Harry, but the second Daphne's hand caught it, her arm went slack and flopped to her side, dropping the rope to the floor.

"It seems to interfere with my control over Daphne's body," Daphne/Harry murmured. "Jim, would you kindly place the rope in her robe pocket?" Daphne's hands held her pocket open for him.

Jim glared at his brother's eyes, but complied nonetheless. "I don't know why I'm helping you. Every time we're together, I end up keeping another batch of secrets," he grumbled.

"You're helping me because you trust me, Jim," Daphne's voice said honestly. "I'm grateful."

Jim's mouth twisted. "Listen, you better not cut me out of this, alright? I want to know what this was about, and you can bet Uncle Padfoot and the Aurors will too."

"I'm releasing Daphne now. Please catch her."

Daphne's eyes reverted to their usual blue and she staggered forward. Jim lunged to grab her out of instinct more than Harry's request. They sank to the floor, her head on his shoulder. Jim tried to ignore the scent of her perfume and worked to suppress the other natural reactions to having one of the most beautiful girls in school draped over him. The long, tired groan she released didn't help matters.

"Enjoying yourself, Potter?" Daphne mumbled sluggishly.

"Next time, you can split your head open on the floor. How does that sound?" Jim replied.

Despite their words, Jim was gentle as he helped Daphne to her feet, and she didn't push him away until she was steady. She was paler than usual, and despite how quickly she wiped it away, Jim noticed a trickle of blood in her left nostril.

"Why do you let him use you like that?" he whispered.

Daphne smirked despite her ruffled state. "Because _I_ trust him too." She put a hand to her head, breathed in deeply, then stumbled out of the shack. "You should probably get the Aurors now," she called behind her.

Jim shot another Stunning Spell into the mercenary just to be sure before stepping out after Daphne.

"What should I even tell them?" he asked angrily.

"A suspicious man attacked you and Granger, and you chased him to the shack. Granger went down, and you saved the day like you always do."

Jim realised with a start that Granger was still lying on the dirt near the shack. He rushed over just as she began to stir.

"Easy, Granger," he said comfortingly. "You're alright. It was just a stunner."

* * *

I regrouped my team outside Honeydukes and immediately led them back to Hogwarts. I didn't want to be around when the Aurors finally showed up and started interviewing people.

Once we were through the gates and walking up the long path to the double doors, I filled my friends in on what had transpired.

"A lone assassin, pulled from the ranks of a mercenary group from Eastern Europe, got his butt kicked by your brother," summarised Theo, his tone exceedingly dry.

"For such a professional, it was a weird way to stage a hit," said Draco scornfully. "I've heard from – well, sources unknown, that there are far simpler ways to kill someone in broad daylight than by trying to lure them into a haunted shack."

"I don't think it was a true assassination attempt," I told them. "Through Daphne, I observed the mercenary attempting to collect some of Jim's blood from an exposed nail that had been charmed to catch on anyone who passed it. Were it not for Daphne's arrival, I believe the man would have simply taken the blood and left us all confused."

"Still seems overcomplicated, doesn't it?" said Tracey, who was staying close to Daphne's side in case the latter needed support. "I mean, the only reason Potter was in that part of Hogsmeade was because you detected something was wrong, which Granger picked up and just happened to inform Jim about."

"It's possible the use of Felix Felicis was involved," I said. "That man was a fighter, not a thinker. He was given specific instructions to get some of Jim's blood, a dose of Luck Potion, and then thrown into action."

"If he was on Luck Potion, how did he lose?" asked Theo.

"It doesn't make you invulnerable," I reminded everyone. "Besides, it would have worked fairly smoothly if it weren't for my interference. Felix doesn't allow you to do the impossible, and as I became more and more involved in the situation – through Daphne – it became less and less likely that he would succeed with his plan and escape unscathed."

"Or the dose was tiny and it ran out."

I eyed Theo with pursed lips. He smiled innocently.

"Yes," I allowed. "Or that."

"No," said Daphne, who had regained much of her colour over the past half an hour. "I'm not satisfied with 'it was Luck Potion', and I don't believe for a second that you are. Stop trying to ply us with fake theories while you work on the real one. I _hate_ it when you do that."

I paused to consider my words. She wasn't wrong, I didn't have any real conviction behind the Felix theory. "It's possible it was an attack of opportunity. The mercenary tracked Jim through the village and just so happened to find a good position. If he did his research, he would know that Jim is a brave idiot who would rather chase him than run for help, so after a deliberate miss to draw Jim's attention, he lured him to the shack where he could set up a quick, effective trap using a jinxed nail – similar to the jinx placed on an umbrella stand at my godfather's old house. After that, all it took was a few Noisemaking Charms to draw Jim further into the shack so that the mercenary, who was hiding nearby, could collect the blood unmolested."

"Until Daphne molested him through four inches of wood," Pansy giggled. She rarely spoke up during these moments. If any of us could be called a non-combatant, it was her.

Draco snorted in a way that could be considered amused or disdainful, it was impossible to tell which. Daphne and Tracey wrinkled their noses distastefully. "That's the worst possible phrasing you could have chosen," said Tracey, though her lips twitched with a suppressed grin.

I remained quiet for a while. My feet carried me automatically into the castle and down into the dungeons, and my friends automatically followed me.

I hadn't expected the attack. I was disturbed by the randomness, the sheer circuitousness of the mercenary's plan. I had to re-evaluate my position, my allies, and the threats facing us.

* * *

 **12 September 1994**

 **The Great Hall**

I was picking at the remains of my lunch when a nasty thought occurred to me.

It had been almost two weeks since I spoke to the magical imprint of Blaise's brother Graham. By now, the imprint had certainly faded, but the questions raised by my conversation with the doomed man remained. Theories and suspicions fermented in my mind, and while I respected that Blaise was still grieving, it was time I brought him to account for the secrets he'd been keeping.

Blaise seemed to sense that his grace period was over. Something seemed to wilt inside him when I led him into a spare classroom while our friends waited outside. We only had a few minutes before our next class, but I couldn't wait any longer. My hands were cold and my muscles were tense, but my mind was bright and sharp.

"How much of your mother's plan are you aware of?" I asked without preamble.

Blaise bought time by sitting on a desk and running a hand over his face. He stared at the floor, his expression miserable.

"Enough pity-fishing, Blaise," I snapped. "I've given you nearly a fortnight. My patience has limits, especially after that debacle at Hogsmeade two days ago. I can't afford any more blind spots."

Blaise swallowed. "I only knew what Graham told me, the few times we met."

"And what did he tell you?"

"That I was the result of a decade-long experiment by my mother to… to create a wizard who couldn't be touched by the Mind Arts. Seven children by seven fathers, and I was the 'success'."

"Did he tell his fellow Unspeakables?"

At that question Blaise seemed especially hesitant. He closed his eyes tightly. "He said they were ones who told _him._ "

Frost crackled beneath my feet. I barely even noticed it. Blaise began to shiver as the temperature inside the classroom dropped below zero. I heard Theo swear loudly in the corridor outside. I felt for him, but just for a moment I let my control lapse a little. The anger was refreshing, just like the silly laughing fit I had inside Graham Stone's mental imprint. Constant control made any kind of emotional release practically orgasmic. My experience at Hogsmeade had whet my appetite, and I'm ashamed to say I fed it.

"You understand the implications, don't you?" I said, strangely serene in my fury.

Blaise nodded hurriedly. "The Unspeakables wanted to know if it was possible to create a person the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to affect with his psychic abilities. They probably discovered my mother's plan and decided to assist her instead of reporting her to the DMLE. Then the Dark Lord went down, so they brought Graham into their ranks to keep an eye on my family, just in case another person was found with the same level of mental power. And then… you."

"Me," I said. "Graham was used to the very end. First by your mother, then by the Unspeakables to keep tabs on you. They even transferred that utility onto you by using his death to manipulate you into asking me to help find his killer." I stared into his eyes. "What do you think they'll ask you to do next?"

"I would never betray you, Harry," Blaise whispered.

"In essence, by not telling me these things, you already have." My anger died, leaving me hollow and tired. "I inherited many things from the Dark Lord, but heartlessness isn't one of them."

Blaise looked at me hopefully.

"But it cannot be denied," I continued, dreading my own words. "You have been compromised. This… has stained our friendship, Blaise. There are layers of trust that cannot be rebuilt."

Blaise shook his head quickly, earnestly. "We can build over the top of them, then," he said at once. "No more secrets, Harry."

I had to make it quick and clean. "No secrets at all," I said. "You've left my confidence."

I exited the classroom at a brisk walk, startling the others. They hurried to catch up. I sensed the unspoken questions that rose in them as they realised Blaise wasn't joining us. We passed a row of polished portraits, and I saw Daphne reach for me in the reflections, only for Theo to grasp her arm tightly. He shook his head mutely and she reluctantly lowered her hand.

* * *

Defence Against the Dark Arts passed quickly. It was the first time we'd had the class since the dreadful Hogsmeade weekend. I was eager to bury myself in my studies after my painful conversation with Blaise. He sat apart from our group, in one of the less-used desks at the back of the room. I could have turned my head to look at him at any moment. I chose not to.

Moody was instructive, ruthless, and entertaining as a professor, and I intended to take advantage of his disdain for mollycoddling. I didn't trust him at all, but I couldn't deny he was an effective teacher. He didn't shy away from teaching us about the realities of war and dealing with Dark creatures.

Moody was also incredibly paranoid, though probably for good reason considering his lifestyle. His false iris regularly made circuits of the room, checking for anyone behind him even if his back was against a wall. Whenever we practiced spells, he watched every single wand that flicked in his direction. He certainly lived up to his motto of constant vigilance.

"I don't consent to this," I said.

Moody stopped short in his introduction to the Unforgivable Curses.

"To what, Potter?" he barked.

"You're planning to use the Imperius Curse on us."

An alarmed murmur ran through the class.

Moody eyed the lot of them with amusement, or what passed for amusement on his scarred face. He hobbled over to my desk and stared down at me.

"Better me than a dark wizard, Potter," he growled. "Or are you scared your willpower won't be up to the task of resisting it?"

"Did you clear this with the headmaster?" I asked.

"Yes, I did. Any more questions?"

"Can you prove that you have his permission?"

Another cackle. Moody summoned a piece of parchment from his desk. As I read, he continued his lecture on each curse to my thoroughly uncomfortable classmates. To my disgust, it appeared that Professor Dumbledore had, in fact, signed off on the demonstration of all three Unforgivable Curses to students in their fourth year or older. There were restrictions in place about how long each student could be placed under the Imperius Curse and what Moody was allowed to make them do to demonstrate its effects, but the fact they were _restrictions_ and not an outright ban didn't sit well with me.

"If Potter's satisfied with my _proof_ ," Moody said gratingly, "Then why don't we let him be the first to experience the Imperius? Maybe once he's sung a few verses of the school anthem he might be gracious enough to join the rest of us here at ground level."

I felt a flicker of fear inside me as I walked to the front of the class, but not for my dignity as Moody seemed to believe. How much control would someone truly be able to assert if they successfully hit me with an Imperius Curse? Could they command me to rip through the mental shields of everyone in the classroom and write a list of their biggest secrets? Could I be ordered to obliterate people's minds and reduce them to gibbering thralls? I usually only dwelled on the worst that could be accomplished with my ability late at night, while struggling to sleep. The knowledge that it didn't matter what I _could_ do, only what I _chose_ to do had been part of my calming mantra ever since I was a kid. If the Imperius was capable of nullifying that rule…

The curse hit me suddenly and my vision blurred. I was disoriented, seeing things from four perspectives. The Imperius took the form of an intangible wedge between my body and my mind, cutting connections between the two like tendons between limbs, severing my control the deeper it went.

I felt a curious sense of detachment from my body. My mind remained strong and clear, but my muscles tightened and quivered in their desire to follow Moody's instructions. For a moment, I left my body entirely, floating above the classroom like a heavenly observer. This wasn't completely new to me, but I generally disliked being bodiless. Even when I was combing Hogsmeade for the mercenary, I had kept a strong link to my form as it sat in the secret tunnel beneath Honeydukes.

Without my mind inside it, my body began to obey Moody's orders. I quickly rushed back down inside myself, pressing my will against the foreign control of the Imperius. The curse gave way instantly, snapping like a dry twig under the weight of my mental power. I settled behind my eyes once more, and breathed deeply.

My mouth hadn't opened more than half an inch during the ordeal. With the curse broken, I relaxed and assumed my usual stance with my hands clasped in front of me.

"Something in you Potter boys, isn't there?" Moody cackled, waving for me to sit down. "Not just a Boy-Who-Lived thing, eh?"

"Jim broke free as well?" I asked in honest surprise.

"After a moment, yes. Did you doubt your hero brother, Potter?" Moody's smile was toothy and hideous.

"Yes," I replied, causing a round of sniggering from my fellow Slytherins.

"Let's get on with it then," he told the class. "Have a taste of what your fathers didn't do."

Moody's expression was positively gleeful.

After the class, I stayed behind while everyone filed out. With just Moody and I left in the room, it was fairly obvious I wanted to talk, but the professor kept scrawling notes on the blackboard and making them invisible to prepare for tomorrow's morning class.

"I was hoping to lean on your expertise with magical items, Professor," I said.

Moody stopped writing and swung around, one eyebrow raised, managing an inquisitive expression despite the scars that broke said eyebrow into three pieces. "Oh? Well colour me intrigued, Potter."

I reached into my pocket a shade too fast, making Moody flinch. I smiled and withdrew a nub of rope I had cut from the end of the mercenary's tattered, noose-like necklace. It stung my fingers like frostbite, making my skin go hot and numb.

"Could you identify this, by any chance?"

Moody's eyes narrowed. "Now where did you come across a thing like that?"

"There are a lot of strange, old things in this castle."

Moody scoffed. "I doubt you found voidrope anywhere near here, Potter. It's usually part of a fane or ancient burial site."

"Voidrope?" I said, calling up my Memory function in order to commit this conversation to my long-term memory.

"Rope spun from a type of fibre that doesn't exist anymore. This stuff is old, Potter, and incredibly potent. When spun into a noose and worn on the neck, it nullifies the wearer's ability to use the Mind Arts, as well as the ability to use them on him."

My head shot up. "It prevents incoming _and_ outgoing psychic energy?"

"That's what I just said, isn't it?" Moody said gruffly. "If you have enough of it, which nobody bloody does because it's so rare, you could tie it around anything and prevent any kind of mental interference." He eyed me beadily. "Which is why I wear it myself."

I stared in shock as he pulled his collar down and revealed a thin black cord tied into a noose, hanging down his chest like a morbid business tie.

Out of curiosity, I extended my senses towards the professor. I expected it to feel like a barrier, maybe one that I could break through if I used all of my strength like most anti-Mind Arts devices.

Instead, the voidrope lived up to its name by utterly erasing Moody's psychic presence. There was no barrier, no sensation of something being hidden from my senses. If I closed my eyes and relied on my psychic senses alone, I wouldn't be able to discern Moody from an empty patch of space. Even ghosts had psychic traces, indeed, that's all a ghost _was_ at the end of the day, so I had never encountered a being that I couldn't sense in some way with my abilities. Even Blaise, with his immunity, still registered to my senses.

"Yours appears to be in much better condition than my piece," I said, regaining my composure.

"Was fortunate to come across an active fane in a cave in England. I snatched up the voidrope without thinking, breaking the fane and letting the captured spirit loose."

"How is that fortunate?" I asked, somewhat astounded by his carelessness. "That's very illegal and very, _very_ dangerous."

"It was fortunate in that the spirit was only a poltergeist. It flew off to find a better home without more than a raspberry in my direction. Afterwards, I tied the voidrope into a noose with a little extra neck room and I've worn it ever since." Moody grinned nastily. "Why worry about my enemies coming for my mind if they don't even know I'm here? My Occlumency still works, but the Protection function is pretty much obsolete."

I almost said 'you're mad' aloud but caught myself at the last moment.

"How does that explain the difference in condition between yours and mine?" I said instead.

"Voidrope stays in good condition as long as its being used. That fane I found? Been there probably a couple thousand years." He fingered his noose. "Like it was spun yesterday. Now, the other source of voidrope is ancient burial sites. It still lasts much longer than normal rope, but it becomes frayed and brittle, which explains why your bit is the Cleansweep Nine to my Firebolt."

"Is there more material on this in the library? Who are the current experts on voidrope and the societies that made them? What would you recommend as a primer on fanes? I understand the concept and have encountered the term before, but I didn't realise there were still ways they could be relevant to the modern world."

Moody cackled. "Find all that yourself," he said, turning back to the board.

I burned with curiosity, but I stopped myself from pressing the matter. There would be time for that later.

* * *

I was walking back to the common room with my friends after dinner, my mind still racing with thoughts of Blaise and Moody's revelations, when I sensed a familiar presence ahead of us.

"Harry," Theo said softly. "Why are you angry?"

Conversation ceased, and though my friends kept pace with me, there was an element of caution in the air.

"All of you go on ahead," I said calmly, stopping in my tracks.

They obeyed, albeit reluctantly. Once they were gone, a man appeared out of thin air at the end of the corridor. He approached me unarmed, not hurrying but not dawdling either.

"I'm feeling vulnerable, Kane," I said. "Consider your words carefully."

Unspeakable Kane, squat and broad-shouldered, stopped walking when he was a comfortable four metres away. His face was as hard as granite and almost as expressive.

"Vulnerable," he said flatly.

"Brittle. Frightened."

"Why?"

"I know about voidrope. And you forced me to cut off contact with Blaise."

Kane blinked, though his face showed no surprise. "We didn't force you to do that."

"You compromised him. I can't have friends with hidden agendas."

"It must be said that the fact you chose to end a friendship rather than extend your trust says interesting things about your sense of empathy."

The air in the corridor dropped several degrees. "What would it say about my sense of empathy if I simply cracked open your mind and ripped your secrets from your head?" I said coldly. "With so many newly discovered threats, most of which you knew about, can I even afford not to? I feel like it's me against the world, Kane. I don't understand why you are pushing me like this."

Kane was shivering, and his breath was expelled as a plume of steam. His composure remained unruffled, but nobody could be bathed in the manifestation of my anger without recognising the precarious position they were in.

In a moment of self-reflection, I was shocked at how little control I was exercising. My emotions were bubbling, roiling in the cauldron I kept deep down, out of harm's way. I actually _was_ scared. Voidrope, Blaise, the mercenary, the mysterious killer at the World Cup who apparently came close to matching me in power; I was surrounded by threats I had neither expected nor knew how to contend with.

I blinked out of my thoughts and saw Kane struggling to remain standing. My fear had mixed in with my anger, painting the floor with frost, and icing over nearby suits of armour. I felt Kane's mental shields eroding with each passing second, like a cliff worn away by a century of waves.

"Harry," he choked out.

"Are you my enemy, Kane?" I whispered. "What have I done to deserve this? Can you name even one thing?"

"It's not what you have done," he said, teeth chattering. "It's what you have the potential to do. You must have known we would have safeguards and leverage in place. Could we even afford not to?"

I stared at him. His shields splintered.

"We kept knowledge of voidrope from you as a safeguard, but we always knew you would discover it eventually," he continued. "We used Graham Stone's connection to Blaise to compel you to help us when we were left utterly lost during the investigation. We encouraged Lady Zabini's experiments in the hopes of producing people who were immune to the Mind Arts in order to combat the Dark Lord, but while Blaise was a success, the process was not cost-efficient, and the idea was abandoned."

"What about the mercenary in Hogsmeade?"

"There is evidence that mercenaries from the same company are being brought into Britain. We don't know who is hiring them or for what purpose. Felix Felicis was found in his toxicology."

I hesitated at that. "Really?"

The answers were calming me down. Kane regained some of his shield integrity.

"Yes," he panted. "We have questioned him as thoroughly as possible without triggering one of several Unbreakable Vows he has taken. It was a weak dose, and your intervention changed the odds significantly enough to break through the effect."

"Why did you come here tonight?"

"To tell you…" Kane squared his shoulders, standing firm as my power was restrained once more. "To tell you that Graham Stone's killer is named Barty Crouch Junior, who was thought to have died in Azkaban. We have investigated and found his mother's remains in place of Crouch's. We believe his father, the head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was complicit in the switching of his son and wife. This has not reached the DMLE's ears yet, nor will it until we have uprooted every inch of this heinous corruption of justice."

"But… why would you tell me this?"

Kane blinked slowly. "You asked me to keep you updated," he said plainly.

"I didn't actually expect you to," I said dryly. "You're monitoring me to make sure I don't become the next Dark Lord. I know it, you know it. If Sirius hadn't beaten you into the ground fourteen years ago, you probably would have killed me as a baby rather than risk it."

"When you mentioned asking your own questions while inside Graham Stone's mindscape, it was recognised immediately as a serious breach of department security. We were concerned about the secrets Graham may have told you, whether because he felt his duty ended at death or because you had placed him under duress. A very dangerous and unstable artefact was employed out of desperation, which allowed what was left of Graham to speak a single sentence through his dead body." Kane met my eyes squarely. "He said, 'the kid's alright'."

I exhaled evenly to keep my emotions from flaring again. "If you have an 'artefact' that can do that, why did you bring me in?"

"Because, as I said, it is a dangerous and unstable artefact. All seven members of the team required to operate it are still in St Mungo's, though they will thankfully make a full recovery before the end of the year."

"How do you know he wasn't talking about Blaise?"

"He wasn't."

We stared at each other for a long moment. I felt there was something in Kane's disposition that I had never seen before. It wasn't apologetic – from his perspective, he had behaved rationally in the face of a very serious potential threat. But there was a note of understanding, a certain lack of wariness, as though maybe, just maybe, I wasn't about to murder him and begin my reign of terror.

It was as close to a handshake we could manage.

"The mercenary in Hogsmeade was wearing this," I said, pulling out the nub of voidrope. I kept the rest of it carefully locked in my trunk for further study. "It's why I couldn't shut him down immediately. I didn't even know what I was dealing with."

"What have you gleaned from that sample?" Kane asked, rightly assuming I had done my homework.

"That it was likely from a burial site rather than a fane. It's brittle enough that Jim was able to snap it accidentally by holding onto it and blasting the mercenary away from him. Beyond that, not much."

Kane nodded. "It's possible we could cross-reference it with other samples procured over the centuries since the department was founded. We may even be able to determine which burial site it came from, and the path it took to end up on the neck of a mercenary."

I considered for a moment, then tossed the nub over to Kane. He caught it deftly.

"You realise the implications of a mercenary wearing voidrope being sent to attack Jim while I was in the same area?" I said.

Kane nodded again, slower this time. "Somebody outside the department knows about your abilities _and_ suspected you would notice something was wrong despite not being near Jim."

"Crouch Junior?"

"Very possibly, though I don't know how. I will keep you updated."

I inclined my head with more respect than I had shown Kane in my entire life. It was less than half an inch, but I doubted it escaped his notice.

"Harry," he said in lieu of goodbye.

"Djinn," I answered with a smirk.

For a second I thought I sensed a touch of exasperation emanating from within his fully-restored shields. Then he was gone, melting away into the corridors of Hogwarts as day melted into night.

* * *

When I finally entered the common room, I was surprised to find my group missing someone before I remembered. Blaise had probably gone down to the dormitory early rather than be seen on his own. The others had likely spoken to him in my absence to ask what had happened. I didn't mind that, as long as they didn't pass along anything important. As much as it pained me to cut him off, and despite my new understanding with Kane, the fact remained that Blaise was still the Unspeakables' ace in the hole, someone who could be manipulated or forced into betraying me. Someone immune to the Mind Arts without the need for voidrope.

What a terrifying prospect.

Daphne's voice caught my attention. She was engaged with Astoria in a mild argument in our alcove. As I joined my group, I listened in.

"And _why_ exactly are you so tired?" Daphne said accusingly.

"I don't know," Astoria whined. "I swear I'm going to bed on time, Daph."

"That excuse might have worked on father during the holidays, but I'm not going to tolerate it. We're back at school now, Tori, so stop staying up late gossiping or whatever you're doing."

Astoria mumbled something under her breath. Daphne's eyes flashed, and Astoria quickly retreated back to her own group, which included red-haired Ginny Weasley.

"A little rough, don't you think?" said Theo, frowning. "She seemed like she was being honest."

Daphne sighed. "Clearly, you don't have siblings."

I gestured to the seat beside me on one of the sofas. Daphne sat stiffly. I could feel the tension in the group from Blaise's absence, as well as curiosity as to what I was doing before I showed up. I owed them an explanation, but I didn't have the energy after my encounter with Kane.

Instead, I lowered my voice and focused on a subject that would certainly distract Daphne.

"Astoria might have hit a bad memory while doing her Occlumency exercises and got herself stuck in a loop where the memory keeps resurfacing," I said. "Anyone would struggle to sleep if they did that. We'll need to sit down with her at some point to go about fixing it, but in the meantime get her some Dreamless Sleep potions from Madam Pomfrey. That might ease the symptoms."

"Enough of these half-measures, Harry," Daphne hissed under her breath. I was right about her being tense. "I want you to examine her."

Hesitantly, I nodded. I was already asking a lot from my friends in terms of trust, so I couldn't afford to miss opportunities to give back.

Daphne went to collect Astoria, encountering predictable resistance in the attempt considering they'd just had an argument. Slowly but surely, Daphne extracted her sister from her yeargroup and dragged her over to ours.

Gently, very gently, I unveiled my psychic senses. I didn't touch her mind for fear of triggering whatever was stopping her from practicing Occlumency. Instead, just as we were warmed by the hearth without touching it, I could take a measure of her via proximity alone.

I nestled against Astoria's consciousness and swam in her surface thoughts. She was a little scared of me, but Daphne liked me, so I must be okay. She was nursing a heavy crush on a funny Ravenclaw boy with whom she shared Herbology last year. The thought of him used to make her stomach feel light and fizzy, but this year she was so tired all the time and kept messing up in front of him. She didn't know what was wrong with her. She hated herself.

And then I saw it.

I realised I had been a fool, an utter fool, to have ignored this for so long.

I brought my senses back into containment. "Alright, Astoria. You can get back to studying now."

Daphne opened her mouth to object, but Astoria slipped out of her grasp and darted back over to Ginny. Closing her mouth, Daphne turned to eye me with irritation.

"It took an annoying amount of convincing to get her to come over here," she said. "It's like she can sense when I want to talk about Occlumency."

"There's nothing more to do except wait and see if her condition changes," I lied.

Daphne sighed and pulled Tracey aside, probably to have an in-depth discussion about my many flaws. Theo watched me intently, his eyes wide. I didn't blame him. It wasn't every day I felt fear.

The curious thing about inspecting a mind without truly entering it is that it's similar to peeking through the front window of a house.

You can tell when someone has been there before you.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **We got to see a bit of Jim in this chapter, as well as witness Harry in action as a commander. The plot threads are piling up, but how on earth do they tie together? No wonder Harry's a bit stressed.**

 **Please review if you want to see more!**


	3. Affliction

**Chapter 3: Affliction**

 **13 September 1994**

 **Slytherin Boy's Dormitory**

 **Before Dawn**

Astoria Greengrass was compromised.

An agent skilled in the Mind Arts had left traces of psychic surgery in Astoria's mind. I dwelled on it for hours. What had I missed? What had I allowed into the castle, into the dungeons, among my friends?

I had shared nothing with them. With this discovery, a necessary wall had been raised between myself and everyone else. I played the part of a disinterested leader, as though I had investigated Daphne's request, found no real issue, and put it on the shelf for monitoring and future assessment. My behaviour frustrated Daphne to no end, and our conversations lacked the ease and warmth I treasured. It hurt me to push her away, however indirectly, but until I knew the depth of Astoria's mental subversion, I couldn't risk alerting the agent that I was onto them.

I laid awake through the night, plagued by worst-case scenarios. At some point, I dug out the little notebook Daphne had given me almost a week ago. With nothing but my lit wand and my mind, I examined every inch of the timeline of events in Astoria's life. Some of the minutia was disgusting, such was Daphne's determination not to leave anything out if it might help her sister, but I took every fact, every detail, and passed them through a sieve in my mind, picking them apart for possible vulnerabilities.

I found something.

Greengrass Manor had top-of-the-line wards. I knew because I had been there myself during the holidays. I had spent hours wracking my brain to find a way someone could compromise Astoria while she was at home. But just before her reticent behaviour began, she spent three hours away from home. Three hours sitting alongside Daphne and their father, Nathanael Greengrass, at a Wizengamot meeting.

Daphne had noted that it was long and boring. She noted that her father didn't have dinner that evening and seemed distracted. She noted that Astoria had a headache that day.

That was it.

I couldn't say why with anything approaching reliable proof, but I knew in my gut that whoever went inside Astoria's mind did so at the Wizengamot meeting, or while they were at the Ministry.

I slipped out of my bed and padded over to kneel beside Theo. Blaise slept on my other side, so I tried not to wake him. It had already become awkward living so closely with him after our discussion yesterday.

Theo woke easily. I was so wound-up he could probably sense it in his sleep.

"Harry?" he whispered, moving his face close to mine. I put my hands on his shoulders to keep him at a more respectable distance, but not before I accidentally caught a few of his surface thoughts. I felt distinctly uncomfortable. There were some things I didn't need to know regarding Theo's feelings towards me, not the least because I couldn't reciprocate them.

After a few seconds of bleary-eyed blinking, Theo woke up properly. He pulled out of my grasp and sat up. "What is it?" he asked quietly.

"Did you attend a Wizengamot meeting over the holidays?" I asked.

Theo frowned. "Yes, because Daphne was attending one. We found some time to catch up during the refreshments period afterwards."

"Did you see Astoria there as well?"

"Of course, but she mostly stayed with their father."

"I need to review your memories of that meeting."

Theo swung his feet over the side of his bed. "Alright." His dark hair was lank and messy, hanging over his eyes like a shield against the light of my wand. I hesitated, then gently brushed his fringe out of his face. He smiled coyly at me, tilting his head. It might seem manipulative to play on his feelings like that, but Theo was an empath. He understood what was meant by the gesture, and, more importantly, what was not.

Guided by wand light, we found Draco's bed and woke him. Unlike Theo, Draco seemed to sleep quite deeply. We only just revived him enough to get a 'yes' when I asked if I could use his Pensieve before he dropped back into his slumber.

I tore open Draco's trunk with a pulse of my mind and quickly found his Pensieve in the magically enlarged space within. Theo accompanied me as I took it to my bed and closed the curtains around us. We sat cross-legged on the sheets as I watched him work himself into a meditative state so as to better recall the details of that day. With a long, slow wand movement, Theo drew the memory from his mind and deposited it in the swirling silver of the Pensieve.

"Do you want me to stay out here?" Theo whispered.

"No. I might need to ask you something."

Simultaneously, we dipped our fingers into the Pensieve.

The Wizengamot curled around us, lacquered wooden benches layered in an amphitheatre pattern. At the bottom, in full sight, were the benches belonging to the Chief Warlock and other high-ranking members. Members in plum-coloured robes were only just shuffling in through the doorways on either side of the chamber.

"What happened before this?" I asked Theo.

He shrugged. "Nothing. My father and I arrived only seconds ago, and the Greengrasses arrived a moment after us. Most of the representatives of higher standing arrive just as the meeting is about to begin. I think it's a power-play sort of thing – you imply that the meeting literally doesn't start until you have arrived."

"Fashionably punctual," I murmured. Theo laughed.

The moment Astoria appeared in the doorway, I shadowed her, scanning the faces of the people she passed, watching for the slightest sign of malice. Theo watched me curiously.

"I might be able to help if I know what to look for," he suggested carefully.

I bit my lip. If anyone else was compromised, telling Theo could be a serious security risk. But… I couldn't make myself lie to him. After cutting off Blaise and disappointing Daphne, I felt like I was burning through trust at an alarming rate.

"Someone did something to Astoria at this meeting," I said. "They would have needed to be close to her, and they would have needed time."

Theo led me through the half-full benches to an empty row. "This is where the Greengrasses end up sitting. If she was targeted on purpose, maybe you can –"

"Spot someone who waited to sit until she was already seated," I finished quickly. Theo nodded.

Astoria and her family took their places, and I hungrily surveyed the members that sat beside and behind them. I didn't recognise most of them.

"Names?" I said.

Theo began pointing them out. "Blake Girder, Madeline Mallan, Gerald Spencer – complete wanker, by the way – Matthew Bloodhound – not as cool as he sounds, trust me – Kathleen Ellis, Bartemius Crouch, Mirin Boot –"

"Crouch!" I exclaimed, following Theo's gesture. Damn him, Crouch was sitting two levels above the Greengrass family, staring directly down at Astoria, who was already complaining of a headache.

"He has a son, doesn't he?" I said urgently.

"Yeah, a Death Eater. He died in Azkaban a little while back," Theo confirmed.

Except he didn't. The Unspeakables were far too late in their investigation. The older Crouch had been compromised before the start of term, before the World Cup. Most likely, Crouch Junior had broken free from whatever binding his father used to keep him in line after helping him escape from prison, and immediately put his father under the Imperius Curse in order to maintain appearances. But just for today, Junior had needed to be present in person, and so Polyjuice Potion was likely in use.

"What did you do to her, you son of a bitch?" I whispered, staring into Crouch 'Senior's' eyes.

"Harry?" Theo asked worriedly.

I didn't reply. Instead, I sped up the memory, letting the three hours slip by in less than a minute. In all that time, Crouch never took his eyes off Astoria. There was a lot that could be done by a skilled, powerful user of the Mind Arts with three hours of focus. With that much time, it was no wonder nobody else noticed – he would have been able to mask everything. Even I had rarely spent so long on a single mental task. What nefarious corruption did he plant in Astoria's head?

Suddenly, the benches cleared, and I brought the memory back to normal speed.

"Where does the refreshment period take place?" I asked.

Theo led the way once more, taking me to a warmer, friendlier-looking room with thick rugs and tables stocked with food and drink, very little of which was going to waste.

I spotted Astoria beside her father, speaking to – goddamn it, speaking to Crouch!

Vaguely, I noticed Theo and Daphne greeting each other with a hug and having a chat over some butterbeer nearby. I was so highly strung that I actually sensed Theo, the real Theo, consider making a joke about how he was secretly going to steal Daphne from me, before he decided I was too focused to interrupt. Being inside a memory was too similar to being inside Graham Stone's mindscape – the Mind Arts were stronger here, less filtered by the physical world.

To my dismay, Crouch and Nathanael Greengrass were behind a privacy charm, one that excluded Astoria, who was watching the two adults with irritation. Their lips were impossible to read; neither man was emotive enough and they were clearly trying to maintain unbothered expressions.

Crouch nodded towards someone across the room, and both Greengrass and I followed the gesture to a beautiful dark-skinned woman who somehow made Wizengamot robes look good.

"Sabrina Zabini," Theo whispered, though I'd already made the family connection.

It was the eyes again, you see.

I turned back to the men and found the Greengrass patriarch turning pale. Crouch remained perfectly composed, as though they were discussing the weather. Astoria tugged at her father's sleeve, but rather than shake her off, he pulled her closer, holding her against his side in a protective manner.

"Crouch is threatening Astoria?" Theo said confusedly. "And it has something to do with Blaise's mother? Harry, what the heck is going on?"

"Later," I hissed. My Memory function was storing the entire encounter in case I needed to review it later. However, despite the obvious intensity of their conversation, nothing more happened between the two men, and Greengrass departed soon after their discussion ended. Daphne said goodbye to memory-Theo and followed her father and sister from the refreshment room.

"We're done here," I said, pulling us out.

It was always a little disorientating emerging from a Pensieve, but we were sitting on my bed so there was a limit to how bad a fall could be. We just rocked a little in place as we hit the mattress, and Theo put a hand out to steady himself.

I summoned a vial from my trunk and pulled Theo's memory out of the Pensieve.

"Do you mind if I keep this?" I asked.

"What's mine is yours," Theo replied with a shrug.

"This stays between us, Theo," I said seriously. "It's important."

He just nodded.

Dawn was finally upon us, coming as a greenish light through the dorm windows. I shooed Theo back to his bed so I could write a hasty letter.

 _Dear Lady Sabrina Zabini,_

 _Please excuse me for the rushed nature of this letter. I need to discuss something of importance with you, in person, at your earliest convenience._

 _Kind Regards,_

 _Harry Potter_

I found it unlikely that she would be complicit with Crouch's scheme – whatever the hell that was – but she was relevant to my investigation nonetheless.

* * *

 **16 September 1994**

To my dismay, my letter returned unopened three days after I sent it.

"Is she travelling, or something?" I murmured.

Draco snorted beside me at the Slytherin table. "If it returns unopened it means your letter was received and rejected," he said. Pansy tittered.

"Ah," I said. "You see, that's never happened to me before. It's always nice to hear from someone more experienced in such matters." Now Theo chuckled. I felt ashamed of how pleased I was to have him back me up despite how secretive and rude I was being lately.

Daphne didn't laugh, and neither did Tracey. They were as thick as thieves, and since I was wronging Daphne by apparently not putting enough effort into her sister's problem, that meant I was wronging both of them. Tracey hadn't graced me with her earnest, wide-eyed smile in almost a week. I was surprised to realise how much I missed that jolt of positivity in the morning.

I turned my failed letter over in my hands. How could I resolve this?

The obvious answer was met with immediate internal resistance. I couldn't just talk to Blaise about it _now_ , it would be improper to demand his services after removing him from the group. I cursed myself incessantly. Why had I decided to put my foot down when I did? Couldn't I have waited even one more week? Even just a few days? No, I just had to be the decisive leader, cutting off a weak link in my team. What was wrong with me?

I scrawled 'URGENT' on the folded parchment, gave it back to my owl, a nondescript brown thing by the name of Jenny, and sent it off again.

* * *

 **22 September 1994**

My classes barely held my attention as I waited for a response. Getting perfect scores was practically tedious at my level.

There was a false alarm a few days earlier when Uncle Padfoot sent me a letter about the mercenary attack on Hogsmeade and the Auror investigation that followed. Having exhausted their investigative techniques and found no new leads, and with the mercenary himself under the influence of multiple Unbreakable Vows, the investigation was at a standstill.

Sirius also thanked me for looking out for Jim and promised that none of the witness testimonies included Daphne. So, there was that.

"Harry," Blaise said quietly, startling me out of my thoughts as I followed my friends between classes. He wasn't meeting my eyes, and his posture as a whole was slumped as though trying to avoid notice. The sarcastic, dry, flamboyant friend I'd known for three years was absent.

"Blaise?" I replied stiffly.

"I don't know why you're sending letters to my mother, but she's not very happy with you at the moment. Might want to try some other time."

With that, he quickly walked away, as though it was painful to be in my presence for too long.

* * *

 **3 October 1994**

Days slipped away.

I didn't know what was wrong with me. I felt like I was stuck in quicksand, unable to move forward, but forced to watch events unfold around me. There were no new updates from Kane, nothing from Sirius, no sign of Crouch Junior, and most painfully no response from Sabrina Zabini.

Astoria remained exhausted at all hours of the day. The Dreamless Sleep potions I recommended weren't working. Daphne now treated me as nothing more than an acquaintance due to my inaction. What could I do? Whatever Crouch had done to Astoria's mind, it was powerful and complex working. It may have even spread to other people, including Daphne herself. What if I explained what I knew and accidentally triggered a failsafe that resulted in Astoria getting killed? Who could I trust not to be under the working's aegis? Theo knew some, but not all of what was happening. Did I dare push it further?

No. No, I didn't dare take that risk. It was the most painful part of it all: they would be in danger if I trusted them.

* * *

 **30 October 1994**

 **Slytherin Boy's Dormitory**

I was being poisoned.

It was the day when students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang were due to arrive any minute, but I was well away from the cheering Hogwarts students welcoming the visitors.

I had just showered and was sitting on my bed with my curtains drawn, meditating. Part of my routine included a self-check to make sure my recent actions were in keeping with my predilection towards rational thinking. It was one of the many ways I checked myself for compromise.

My mind felt clearer than usual. I hadn't gotten dressed yet, so there were no barriers between my skin and the air, which I found conducive to deep thinking (though I never did so when others were around). I performed my checks, and hit a snag.

 _Lethargy_ , I encountered with shock. _Lack of will. Lack of motivation. Helplessness. Confusion._

It was a list of every unusual thing I'd felt over the past month. Alone, in small bursts, they would be normal. But this check was for _every_ day. That wasn't normal, not by a long shot. Something was eroding my will.

I forced down my panic and fought to reclaim the calm of the meditative state. I pulsed my mind for toxins. None were found. I was about to move on to another avenue of analysis when an idea hit me. Instead of using my mind to perform the toxin check, I picked up my wand and did it magically.

There were traces of unknown toxic fibres in my lungs.

I ripped open the curtains on my bed and hurried to open my trunk. Sure enough, my brittle length of broken voidrope remained where I left it, lying alongside my clothes, shedding microscopic filaments that I had been wearing and inhaling for over a month. Despite the fact I had never noticed it before, I imagined that I could feel it all of a sudden: buzzing little deadzones in my body and mind like parasitic worms that fed while the host was oblivious to them.

I levitated the voidrope into a hastily-conjured airtight bag, then blasted my trunk with Cleaning Charms until I couldn't detect any more fibres. Then I cleaned my bed. Then the bathroom. Then the whole dormitory. I even got dressed and nuked the empty common room with hygiene spells to make sure I didn't miss any.

Voidrope had turned out to be a more pervasive and dangerous material than I had imagined. It was _inside_ me, blocking thought pathways and interfering with my very sense of self. No wonder I had been so inactive.

While I knew many medical spells, I needed a second person, a professional, to remove the last traces of voidrope from my body. I made my way to the Hospital Wing, listening to the distant roar of the crowds outside. I peeked through Theo's eyes and saw an elegant powder-blue carriage arrive, sweeping over the Forbidden Forest as it was pulled by powerful Abraxans.

It was difficult seeing through Theo while walking through Hogwarts without tripping over, but it was doable. I sensed his awareness of the fact I was visually eavesdropping, but there was no annoyance or anger at my intrusion. Theo was too receptive to me for his own good.

"All good?" he whispered under his breath. He was standing with my friends – including Blaise, since I wasn't present to say otherwise and Daphne, my second-in-command, wasn't particularly interested in my opinions lately – as they clapped politely for the arriving French students.

+Just checking up on you,+ I responded. I sensed him smile.

I withdrew from Theo's head and entered the Hospital Wing. There was an enchanted bell outside Madam Pomfrey's office that would alert her if someone needed aid and she wasn't present. I pressed it and waited.

The Healer arrived two minutes later, looking a bit put-out at being forced to miss the arrival of the Durmstrang contingent. It really wasn't fair on her, since I _did_ get to see it through Theo.

"Are you certain this couldn't have waited, Potter?" she asked briskly upon noticing me standing there, apparently fine.

"I have toxic microscopic fibres in my lungs," I said without preamble. "I need them purged."

Madam Pomfrey frowned and began casting diagnostic spells of a greater depth and complexity than the ones I had used. After a minute, she lowered her wand and gestured to a bed.

"Lie down," she ordered. I did so. I watched her gather tools and potions from her office and bring them to my bedside. "I don't know how this happened, but I've never encountered a substance like this before. Its properties are unlike anything I've had the displeasure of removing from a body."

"It's called voidrope," I said, because only an idiot would keep a secret from a Healer trying to help them. "It has Mind Arts nullification properties. I kept it in my trunk for later examination, but it contaminated my clothes."

Madam Pomfrey pursed her lips. "I see. Thank you for telling me, Potter. I won't ask how you obtained it in the first place."

"I appreciate that, ma'am."

After a few more spells, she sighed. "The good news is that it hasn't really harmed you, physically speaking. But if you were a practitioner of the Mind Arts, I imagine it would subtly interfere with your thought processes, possibly making you think slower or even fail to form certain thoughts entirely. Have you noticed anything like that?"

"Yes," I said shortly. "What's the bad news?"

"It's going to be painful getting it out," she said bluntly.

"What does it entail?"

"You're going to need to inhale a potion."

I stared up at her. "Did I hear that correctly?"

"Yes. You must essentially drown in this potion in order for it to reach all the fibres. You will still be able to breath since the potion is oxygen-rich, but it will not feel like breathing. You may think you are dying."

I took a moment to consider this. "It needs to come out," I said.

Madam Pomfrey nodded, a flash of sympathy crossing her stern expression. "Do you need time to prepare?"

I swallowed. My hands were trembling slightly. "I'm… going to put myself into a more pliant state. I'll be entirely within your hands."

"It shouldn't take more than twenty minutes," she said quietly, putting a hand on my shoulder.

How hilarious. After refusing to trust my friends with the details of the many plots I was involved in, I was now forced to trust someone who, while not an enemy, couldn't be called a close confidant. I planned to retreat into my Backup function until it was over to prevent my power lashing out and injuring or killing someone. I would be dead to the world, alone except for my other functions.

"I will emerge at twenty-five minutes," I said. Madam Pomfrey nodded, then surprised me by placing a motherly peck on my forehead, the first time I had ever received such. I must have looked even more terrified than I felt.

I laid back on the bed and cleared my mind. I shut off my ability to sense my body while remaining inside it, and sunk down, down, down into my robust Occlumency framework, where my functions dwelled. My Backup function beckoned, a precise copy of Potter Manor and the surrounding estate, and I hurried inside and locked the door. Through the window in my bedroom upstairs, I looked out at the rest of the function with growing unease.

The nearby mountain and its many rivulets that led down to the lake beside the manor was stark and black against the white sky. Distant rains swept its peak, making the smooth dark rock glint. The mountain range it belonged to was already consumed by a hurricane the likes of which I had never seen in reality.

I clutched the window sill tightly as the rumble of thunder reached me, though I saw no lightning. The sky was turning blue, but not like that of a clear day. It seemed to roil and break as though I was standing on the bottom of the sea, staring up at the surface.

A colossal wave roared around the mountain, an unending tide that spread across the rocky plains without losing momentum. I braced myself as it rushed down the slope towards the manor, snapping trees off at the trunks.

With a bang like the world had split in half, the wave smashed into the manor at full speed. The walls held, but I saw a crack in the window. I put my hands over the crack in a childish gesture of denial. I didn't want to know what was going on upstairs. I didn't want to feel what the wave represented.

I checked my internal clock. Twenty-four and a half minutes to go.

* * *

Madam Pomfrey steeled her nerves as Harry stiffened and thrashed on the bed. She'd tied his hands and feet down before beginning the procedure, and it was a good thing she had. It pained her on the most primal level to see a child in such agony, even if he couldn't feel it. She owed it to Harry, to every patient, to finish her work quickly but properly.

With her wand, Madam Pomfrey guided the potion in Harry's lungs, plucking bits of fibre and gathering them together. They would be a horrifying discovery for anyone to make, but especially so for him.

She knew about Harry because she had been the only one Sirius trusted to care for the twins when they were ill as they grew up. She kept her tongue as all Healers should, and she doubted the boy knew she was aware of his abilities.

But these fibres… of voidrope, he said? If they really did nullify the Mind Arts, which were so ingrained into the boy you could hardly have one without the other, then the filaments must have affected him seriously but subtly, interfering with his judgement in ways he would not notice, like an Imperius Curse with no caster.

Madam Pomfrey put such thoughts aside for later. What was important was clearing Harry's body so that his mind could be clear as well.

* * *

I emerged coughing from my Backup function. Each spasm was painful, each breath was dry and hoarse. My chest felt like it was burning, and pained tears rolled down my cheeks. Madam Pomfrey was at my side making soothing noises, but there appeared to be no solution except to wait for the pain to pass.

I don't know how long it took, maybe a few minutes or maybe up to an hour, but I eventually inhaled without wincing in pain. There were parts of my mind, little flecks of nothing, that I was suddenly aware of again. Pathways that had inexplicably ceased to function now returned to full capacity.

I felt awake again.

* * *

 **31 October 1994**

 **Early Morning**

There was much to do.

With my body free of toxic fibres, my mind was free and whole once more. I gathered my friends, minus Blaise, in our corner of the common room before breakfast. Now that I was thinking clearly, I saw how ridiculous my supposition of an infectious Mind Arts working was. The idea that whatever Crouch Junior had implanted in Astoria's mind was naturally transferrable to other people – especially people with Protection functions like Daphne, Draco, and Theo – was laughable.

"You may have noticed I've been a bit off over the past month," I said softly, addressing my silent crew. "A bit quieter than usual. A bit… ineffective."

Daphne nodded coldly, though her eyes were curious. Theo and Tracey nodded too, while Crabbe and Goyle looked confused. They were always a little detached from the group due to their firm partnership, so I didn't blame them for not noticing anything. Draco, on the other hand wore the most delightful expression of annoyance as he realised I had been vulnerable for over a month and he had done nothing to reclaim his position as leader.

"You all remember the mercenary situation at Hogsmeade near the beginning of term?" I asked. They nodded. "I had Daphne retrieve something from the mercenary's body, something that I didn't realise was quite poisonous. It slowed my thinking and altered my ability to assess things objectively. Yesterday, as the foreign schools arrived, I identified, contained, and removed the poison from my body. I am, as they say, back."

Theo chuckled and Tracey let out a little giggle, forgetting for a moment that she was supposed to be echoing Daphne. But even my second-in-command seemed to be lowering her icy walls once more, giving me a very direct look that said, among other things, 'Prove it.' Draco grunted in acknowledgement and trudged away, mourning the missed opportunity. Pansy flounced in his wake, eager to share in his dejection. I still didn't get them.

I was left with Theo, Daphne, and Tracey.

"I should have noticed something," Theo was muttering. "Your emotions had been all over the place. I should have encouraged you to do a more thorough compromise check."

"It was my fault for being so careless," I corrected him. "Don't waste any more thought on it, Theo."

Daphne cleared her throat. "And?"

I stepped forward and placed my hands on her shoulders. She raised her chin, unsmiling, but didn't pull away. "Astoria has been compromised," I said. "Psychic surgery was performed on her during the Wizengamot meeting you went to over the holidays. I firmly believe it is the source of her exhaustion and aversion to Occlumency. Whatever was done to her, it is using her up."

Daphne's composure was second to none, but I didn't miss the way her nostrils flared as her breathing accelerated, nor the way her pupils contracted in fear for her sister. I squeezed her shoulders and let go.

"Solution," she said crisply.

"My next lead requires an audience with Lady Zabini," I said. "It's vital."

Tracey perked up, her blue eyes shining with mischief. "We know where Blaise lives, don't we? Why don't we ditch tomorrow and just go there?"

"We could just _ask_ Blaise to help," Theo said very quietly, his eyes darting over to me to check my reaction.

"Blaise might be compromised too, just in a different way," I said, though I was beginning to very much regret my hastiness in dismissing him. "It will be better if we don't involve him."

They seemed slightly alarmed by my announcement, and I realised I hadn't actually explained to them why Blaise was kicked out of our group. So much mistrust, even before the voidrope filaments began affecting me. I had some work to do.

"I don't want to wait for him to exchange letters with his mother anyway," said Daphne, turning her head to watch Astoria enter the common room, looking even more haggard than usual. Daphne clenched her fists by her side. "I don't want to leave her while she's like this."

"Theo, Draco, and I will visit Lady Zabini tomorrow," I said. "You and Tracey stay here and watch Astoria. Don't involve Pansy or Crabbe and Goyle – they're auxiliaries, remember."

"No," said Daphne, shaking her head. "I don't want to be split up. "Let's take Astoria with us and only bring the core."

I wasn't really in a position to refuse her anything after the last month. "Alright, you, me, Theo, Draco, Tracey, and Astoria will visit Lady Zabini tomorrow, come hell or highwater."

They all nodded.

* * *

Breakfast involved a dramatic announcement. Everyone _ooh_ 'd and _ahh_ 'd at the Goblet of Fire, and even I had to admit it made quite a sight. I turned my attention to our newcomers: the Durmstrang and Beauxbatons students. Viktor Krum stood out easily among the former, and luck would have it he ended up sitting fairly close to my group, and we began to mingle.

I watched with amusement as Daphne prepared herself for the inevitable onslaught of compliments, only to be almost completely ignored in favour of Tracey. The Durmstrang boys seemed fascinated by Tracey's chirpiness, apparently having had their fill of aloof princesses back home. Tracey actually blushed when one boy described her as 'pretty leetle bird, fluttering'.

Daphne was out of her element playing as wingman to Tracey, and when she caught me smiling she gave me a look that said very clearly, "Use this as ammunition at your own risk."

Krum ended up near me, apparently by choice from the way his body language suggested a desire for conversation. Theo, ever aware of the feelings of those around him, tactfully asked me to switch seats with him so he could speak to Draco. I complied, which put me right next to Krum and finally allowed the older boy the opportunity he had been looking for.

"My sympathies on your loss at the World Cup," I said with a small smile. "I confess I was distracted at the time, but I'm told you flew brilliantly."

Krum inclined his head by a fraction. He, like many of the Durmstrang boys, possessed a calm and reserved demeanour. "I am glad you vere not paying closer attention to the match," he rumbled in a deep voice. "Else my father vould not be alive."

I looked at him properly. His gaze was very direct, though his tone was quiet.

"You must have me confused with my brother," I chuckled.

"Your brother eez impressive," Krum nodded slowly, "But he did not see what vos happening until it was almost done. My father was in the Top Box. He allowed me to see his memory of the disaster." Krum's lips twitched in something approaching a smile. "He was the one who told you to sit down when you began searching for the cause of the trouble."

I remembered, despite the fact I had ignored him at the time. "I see."

"The hero of the day didn't react until you looked at him," said Krum, his eyes intense. "And my father remembers the mental energies in the air that day. I believe that as soon as you realised you couldn't stop the wreckage yourself, you influenced your brother into doing it for you."

"How many people share that theory?" I asked mildly.

"It has not gone beyond my father and I."

Theo knocked his leg against mine once, the signal that Krum was telling the truth. Having an empath as a friend never stopped being useful. Despite the fact that Krum and I were speaking very quietly, Theo could probably discern from our emotions alone when a question had been asked and the nature of the answer given.

"What is the point of bringing such a theory to me?" I asked, sipping some water.

Krum's dark eyes were clouded in confusion for a moment. "To thank you," he said, as though it was obvious. "The spotlight might shine on your brother, but my father lives because of you."

"That's all?"

Krum's expression darkened. "That eez a great deal," he said shortly.

I realised he had misunderstood me. "I mean no disrespect," I said, meeting his gaze calmly. "I am not making light of the Disaster or its resolution. But I am wary by nature, and when someone comes to me with secrets, it is usually because they want something."

In an instant, Krum's face cleared and understanding dawned behind his eyes. "No," he assured me. "I, and my father, want only for you to know you are velcome in our home, if you are ever in the region."

My heart warmed by a few degrees. "Thank you," I said, allowing a small smile to grace my lips.

Fancy that. A person who had discovered a dangerous secret and decided _not_ to use it for their own gain. The cynic inside me muttered about how attempting to befriend someone as powerful as me under the guise of gratitude was very much about their own gain, but I decided to ignore it for once.

I didn't get to meet any of the Beauxbatons students, but then, I wasn't all that interested in them. Through some mild psychic pulses, like sonar, I was able to distinguish those talented with the Mind Arts among the visitors. Krum himself was surprisingly competent, though unlikely to have more than one function. I supposed the focus and determination required to succeed in Quidditch at such a high level while still so young meant he had a particular talent for control.

There was a little hiccup when I passed my mind over the French students. In among the ordinary, human psychic presences, there was a touch of inhumanity. Non-human minds always stuck out – I could sense the House Elves popping around the castle without much effort, and the goblins at Gringotts were nearly as distinct in their own way – but this oddity seemed to be mostly human with only the slightest difference.

"Look, she's got Harry too," Tracey giggled, turning aside from her admirers for a moment.

I blinked and realised I had been staring at a very attractive French girl at the end of the Ravenclaw table, surrounded by admirers. Her hair was blonde, her fair features striking, and her psychic presence oozed into the minds of those who gaze upon her. The effect appeared to be inherent, but I detected a level of control over her… _allure_ that was quite conscious. I would have been alarmed if the allure hadn't been surface-level only. In a serious situation, people would break free immediately, and anyone with even basic training in the Mind Arts would be utterly unaffected.

Daphne scoffed. "The Veela at the World Cup didn't bother him, but one French girl does?"

"I'm not bothered," I said archly, giving them both stern looks. "But she is not entirely human. It's hard not to notice something like that."

Krum followed my gaze. "That is Fleur Delacour," he said appreciatively. "She is a quarter-Veela."

"Half-breed," Draco muttered loudly. Theo flicked his ear, inciting a glare.

"Can she transform?" I wondered aloud, ignoring the miniature scuffle developing beside me.

"No," Krum shook his head. "But from what I have heard, that does not make her less dangerous."

Like most students, we hovered around the Great Hall to watch people put their names in the Goblet. Classes were technically still on, but so many people were skipping out of excitement that there wasn't much the teachers could do to tempt students back into their classrooms.

Personally, I was keeping an eye out for my brother. I had a suspicion that he wouldn't be able to resist a chance to prove himself without my interference, and since I doubted he would listen to reason, I needed to be present to intervene when he finally made his play.

Tracey nudged my elbow. "Must be pretty happy to have made up with Daph, huh?" she whispered. The Durmstrang boys, including her admirers, had returned to their ship for the day once their prospective champions had put their names in.

We were sitting on the edge of the Ravenclaw table, only a few metres from the Goblet. My reputation and imposing friends meant nobody disagreed with our seating arrangement.

"Really, considering I was compromised, her anger was misplaced," I said reasonably.

"Right, but it must still feel nice being able to talk with her properly again," Tracey pressed.

"Of course. She's a very dear friend." I glanced at the girl in question, who was sitting on the opposite side of the table, surprisingly chatting with Crabbe while Goyle listened in. After her snubbing from the Durmstrang boys this morning, it seemed she wanted some easy targets to pretend not to glance at her chest. Unexpectedly cunning the two of them might be, but they were still boys.

Tracey rolled her eyes. "You know what I mean. Everyone knows you like checking her out."

"There's not a man on God's green earth that doesn't like checking her out," I informed her. "I've seen adult wizards, parents at King's Cross, stare directly into the sun rather than be tempted."

"Yeah, I've seen that too," Tracey chortled. "So when are you going to ask her out?"

I gave Tracey a flat look. She smiled back innocently. "We know you're going to," she added. "But you should probably get a move on."

I sighed. "Did she put you up to this? I would have thought romance would be the last thing on her mind, all things considered."

"No, but I've known Daph for years. You really hurt her by ignoring Astoria's problem for so long. Now that we're finally doing something about it, you might want to show a little… commitment, to make up for it."

"My very thoughts were being interfered with," I said defensively, and maybe a little hotly. "If it was frustrating for her, believe me, it was even more so for me." Tracey quietened down, and I immediately felt bad. Arguing against Tracey felt like shouting at a kitten. "However," I added, and she perked up again so quickly that it was obvious she had only pretended to be subdued. "There is a tradition involved in the Triwizard Tournament that I believe will serve as a more… appropriate time and location for that sort of thing."

Tracey's blue eyes sparkled. "The Yule Ball?" she murmured.

I tilted my head very slightly. Tracey almost began to vibrate, she was so excited. Only years of Slytherin composure kept her still. I had no doubt that she would pass along the details of our conversation to Daphne – hell, for all I knew, they reviewed all of my encounters with Daphne in a Pensieve in order to construct the best strategic approach.

"Don't get distracted," I said firmly. "We have a big day tomorrow, and I don't want anyone thinking about romance instead of focusing."

Tracey snapped off a salute. "I'll keep Daph in line, boss," she said.

"That goes for you too," I reminded her. "Don't think I missed how much you loved having the Durmstrang boys falling over themselves around you."

"Yeah, well…" she trailed off, looking a little guilty. "Sometimes it's nice to be the beautiful one," she murmured.

"Tracey," I said flatly. "You're gorgeous. Shut up."

She laughed, but I could sense her gratitude.

"Heads up," she whispered playfully.

I didn't even need to ask. My brother's psychic presence, while of unremarkable strength, was as familiar to me as Uncle Padfoot's. I turned and watched him approach.

"Can we talk?" Jim said over the din. He was lacking his robes since the Great Hall was warmed by the body heat of so many students. A scruffy, untucked shirt and loosened tie completed his (rather awkward, in my opinion, though heart-warming in the eyes of others) impersonation of our father.

I nodded and we went to the side of the room, away from the gossiping crowds. My friends took up inconspicuous positions nearby, keeping anyone from wandering too close. Despite that, I still put up a privacy charm that muffled the noise from the crowd.

"What can I do for you, Jim?" I said briskly.

"Who says I want you to do anything?" he replied, already on the defensive.

I rolled my eyes. "Because you hate talking to me, obviously. I annoy you."

"I only hate talking to you when you get all smug and Slytherin-y," Jim said irritably. "If you acted like a normal person, we'd probably get along."

"Normal in this case meaning 'like a Gryffindor', right?" I said with a small smile. Jim seemed to struggle to find the right words, so I made a calming gesture. "Jim, it's fine. I know I'm not the brother you wanted, but I'm not going to change who I am just so you can relive Dad's glory days. Besides, from what I hear, you and your friends manage to get into plenty of trouble without me."

"It's not – I don't want you to be different, I just – argh!" Jim threw up his hands. "Forget it. I came to ask you about something else, anyway."

"Go ahead."

"Do you know Granger? Hermione Granger, same year as us."

I nodded pensively. "I don't know her personally, but yes, I am aware of her." I was aware of her 'subtle' glances in my direction ever since that dreadful Hogsmeade weekend, at the very least.

Jim's mind followed a similar train of thought. "Well, she told me during the attack at Hogsmeade that she was probably the most powerful Mind Arts user in the school."

I shrugged. "It's natural for her to think that. I saw her psychic presence when I was searching Hogsmeade with my mind. She's very good for her age, but there are a couple of older students who are better. She's almost at the level where people start hiding their power out of common courtesy. I imagine most students who discover the Mind Arts on their own reach a point where they wonder if they are the strongest around." I smiled. "The answer, invariably, is no."

"So she's not close to your level?"

"Jim," I said, mildly affronted.

"Right," Jim said dryly. "How silly of me. Anyway, she suggested that I might want to look into Occo-something."

"Occlumency?" I said in surprise. "And you actually want to?"

Jim rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. "I guess I just want to understand it a bit better. I mean, it didn't seem to do her much good against that mercenary guy, but considering the kinds of things _you_ can do with it… I just don't want to get taken off-guard again, and this stuff feels like a pretty big blind spot."

I feigned surprise. "Jim, are you feeling alright? You're behaving very rationally today."

He shoved my shoulder. "So are you going to tell me how Occlumency works, or are you going to be a smug prick?"

"I can do both," I replied with a swift grin. "Occlumency is a mental framework – a foundation upon which different modules can be installed. Those modules are called 'functions'. As you might have guessed, each function serves a different purpose."

Jim was already opening his mouth, and I caught his question in his surface thoughts.

 _My God, he doesn't know what 'module' means? Read a book, brother._

I sighed and reconsidered my approach. "Okay, imagine Occlumency as a Quidditch pitch. Each function is a different player. A Keeper's role is different to that of a Chaser, but they are both on the same pitch. When you need to stop someone from scoring a point against you, you would activate the Keeper. When you want to score a point against someone else, you would activate the Chaser. In practical terms, if you think someone is trying to get into your mind, you can activate what's called a 'Protection' function – the Keeper, I suppose – which obviously works to protect your mind from intrusion. That is what Occlumency 'shields' are: layers of the Protection function. As another example, lets say you need to memorise something important, like a name or date or even a whole conversation. If you have a Memory function, you can do it fairly easily, though it feels a bit weird. Following along so far?"

Jim's expression had darkened when I began my Quidditch analogy, but now he actually seemed enthused. "Yeah, I think so. So once you know Occlumency you can get as many different functions as you like, right?"

"Seven is the maximum, but it's not that simple. There's a reason people gifted in the Mind Arts are so rare. If you don't have an inborn knack for it, it can take an absurd amount of effort to make any progress. Occlumency is a framework, remember, like the foundations of a building. The stronger the foundations, the more floors the building can support. Strengthening one's Occlumency requires regular thought exercises, usually done before bed. I've been teaching my friends how to do this for years and only Daphne, Draco, and Theo are strong enough to manage a single function."

"Which did they choose?" Jim asked curiously.

"Protection, obviously. I created and implanted it in them myself."

"Hang on, created? Implanted?"

I tutted. "Ah, I forgot to mention that. Functions don't just appear out of nowhere when you reach a certain level of Occlumency. They are a collection of thought processes that someone has painstakingly collated into a transferrable package, usually for profit. Have you seen an extracted memory before? Functions look a lot like that. They can be poorly made or finely crafted depending on the artificer. A Protection function bought cheaply in Knockturn Alley might have vulnerabilities or even scraps of memories left over from the person who created it, while a professionally-made function would be clean, robust, and efficient."

"Like comparing a professional Quidditch player against an amateur, right?" said Jim.

I sighed and was about to insult him when I saw the humour in his eyes. I huffed a laugh. "Yes, basically."

"And what about implanting a function? That sounds… not fun."

"It falls within the purview of psychic surgery, so no, it's not fun. Essentially, I took the function I made and… put it in their minds. It's the only way to get functions if you can't make your own."

Jim shuddered. "You're a bit creepy, you know that?"

I scoffed. "Be honest, Jim. I'm terrifying."

"So what do you think my odds are for getting good enough at Occlumency to get a Protection function?"

I almost said something rude before catching myself. We were actually having a civil discussion for once and I was surprised by how much I was enjoying it. "Occlumency works best when the person trying to learn it is even-tempered and logical by nature. It's possible that, with enough effort, you can achieve the self-discipline necessary to form a usable mental foundation."

Jim sighed. "Not a chance in hell, then?"

I hesitated, then put my hand on his shoulder for a moment. "It's not impossible, but maybe not until after puberty. Uncle Padfoot always says Dad calmed down a lot once he was done with school."

Jim seemed surprised at the contact. "In the meantime," he coughed, "What am I supposed to do if someone starts messing with my mind?"

"You pray, for their sake, that I never find out."

After giving me a surprisingly embarrassed look, Jim awkwardly clapped me on the shoulder and wandered off to join his friends. I don't know what possessed me to be so kind considering our conversations were usually comparable to a pair of rival stags butting heads. Maybe there was still a bit of voidrope in my system making me crazy.

I kept watch all day, but Jim never approached the Goblet. I made a note of the handful of older students that did, and internally arranged a probability table regarding who was most likely going to be chosen. I couldn't possibly know what kind of algorithm the Goblet used to choose its champions, but I was fairly certain that Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum were in with a good chance each.

The evening feast was even more extravagant than the Welcome Feast the day before, but then Hallowe'en was always a big occasion. I felt a little silly keeping an eye on Jim even as I ate, as though he might make a desperate run for the Goblet and need to be tackled like a streaker at a football game.

The lights dimmed, the air stilled, and I could sense the tension in the Great Hall without even trying. Theo hunched his shoulders a bit. He hated crowds, especially when they were worked up about something.

Professor Dumbledore led the ceremony dressed in a sombre burgundy robe, a far cry from his usual flamboyance. I had never been close to the man. I couldn't afford to appear too fond of such a prominent Light figure, considering my house and the friends I had made. Sirius had told me that the headmaster understood, and didn't take offence.

Daphne was on my left. I shuffled slightly closer. Certain students were taking advantage of the diminished visibility to be a little friendlier than they would dare to be in other circumstances, and it gave me an idea.

"Delacour, Krum, Diggory," I muttered under my breath, meeting her raised eyebrow with a smirk. A little arrogance was supposed to be an aphrodisiac, after all, and Tracey was right – I had some making-up to do. Better that I started planting seeds now so that I could reap the benefits when the Yule Ball came around.

Or maybe I was a little more relaxed than usual after Draco treated everyone to a shot of firewhiskey from a bottle he'd taken from his father's cellars. Our cups of 'augmented pumpkin juice' had gone down with a bit of spluttering, but quite a few smiles. Pansy had managed less gracefully than the rest of the group, and Draco was now holding her against his chest with surprising tenderness. Theo had declined, already on-edge due to the crowd and having no desire to ingest anything that might affect his Occlumency.

Daphne flushed a little from my close attention. I delighted in the sight. Her composure was legendary when it came to flirting.

"For every name you get right, let's take a drink," she murmured. In the low light and heavy atmosphere, her words made my skin tingle. Across the table, Tracey shared her cup with a nearby Durmstrang boy, putting a finger to her smiling lips in the process. He appeared spellbound as he accepted, and his eyes widened in recognition when he tasted the 'juice'. They shared a flushed grin.

The Goblet belched flames suddenly, casting flickering lights across the excited crowd. Dumbledore caught the note that emerged, still smoking.

"The champion for Beauxbatons… is Fleur Delacour," Dumbledore announced. Cheers rose from the French, while the other schools clapped enthusiastically, particularly the males. Fleur rose from her seat among the Ravenclaws, letting her allure seep into every eye that touched her, sending a wave of arousal through the room that only broke upon the more resilient students. The quarter-Veela relished the attention as she made her way to a room behind the staff table.

Daphne and I looked into each other's eyes as we sipped. They sparkled in the firelight.

Another gout of flame, another scrap of parchment.

"The champion for Durmstrang… is Viktor Krum!"

A huge, masculine roar went up from the Durmstrang boys (and the Quidditch fans among the rest of the students) as Krum strode up to join Fleur in the antechamber. He, at least, was humble, though I caught a small grin when he glanced back from the doorway.

I hooked my arm through Daphne's before we drank, making her smile. _I'm going to kiss her,_ I thought. _Forget waiting for the Yule Ball, one more sip and I'll go for it._

With a final, dazzling spurt of blue-white flames, the last note fluttered down into Dumbledore's open palm.

"The champion for Hogwarts… is Cedric Diggory!" he called.

My heart raced. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between Daphne and I to finish our cups this time. I nearly choked, I was so nervous. We placed our cups on the table within a second of each other, and I leaned closer, placing a hand on her thigh as we –

There was a fourth burst of fire.

My good mood died in an instant. A focused burst of psychic energy shot through my body, disintegrating the firewhiskey inside me to ensure my thought processes would not be hindered. Daphne turned as I did, staring at the unreliable Goblet. Confused muttering overtook the cheering. Diggory was already in the antechamber, likely unaware of why his fans had gone silent.

+Alert,+ I said mentally.

Theo jumped next to me, startled. I caught a glimpse of his surface thoughts before he regained his composure – surprise at the Goblet, annoyance at having to witness me making moves on Daphne, and the ever-present strain of a room full of tense people.

+Stretch your senses, Theo. You're subtler than I am. Look for someone who isn't surprised.+

Theo immediately sat up straight and began passing his gaze over the crowd. The Goblet's fourth scrap of parchment fell into Dumbledore's waiting, uncertain fingers. I suppressed the urge to send a psychic lance across the room and pulverise the note before it could be read. Magical contracts being what they were, I doubted it would make any difference.

"Jim Potter," Dumbledore said calmly. I wondered if the old man had activated his Thought function so that he could buy more time to consider the possible reasons for this breach of tradition. I hoped he was having better luck than me.

+Theo!+

"I can't – _everybody_ is surprised!" Theo hissed, drawing the attention of the rest of my group. "Nobody I can reach stands out, but my range isn't infinite, you know!"

"Protections," I murmured, as confused and suspicious chattering filled the hall. I felt those of my friends who possessed Protection functions activate them. Across the room, Jim hadn't stood. He was mouthing something to his friends even as they pat him on the back for getting one by the headmaster. That annoying 'sympathy' thing reared its head again, but I kept it firmly under control.

I psy-flashed the room. Like a wideband radio burst, my mind flooded the Great Hall for less than a second, taking a snapshot of auras and emotions. It was overt but nondirectional from the perspective of all but the most dedicated practitioners of the Mind Arts. The growing unrest stuttered for a moment as people found themselves distracted by something they couldn't quite pin down. Some people rubbed their upper arms at the chilly draft that wafted through the room for an instant. A handful of older students, mainly sixth and seventh years, looked around for the source of the flash, and most of their eyes settled on Dumbledore. That was fine by me.

Professor Snape, an unpleasant but not unreasonable man in my experience, locked eyes with me in an instant. He knew very well the headmaster wasn't responsible, and while I doubted the Potions professor was capable of flashing a room this large, I didn't discount the possibility that he understood what I was trying to accomplish. In any case, I dismissed him swiftly.

Professor Dumbledore himself, however, didn't react to the flash in any way. He was in the middle of explaining that a fourth name was unexpected and required immediate investigation, while waving a reluctant Jim into the antechamber. The headmaster hadn't even skipped a beat when the flash hit. I couldn't help but acknowledge his skill.

I parsed the flash-data. It was tremulous and fell to pieces even as I examined it; a thin slice of hundreds of psyches, frozen in a single moment. Shock, surprise, some good-natured nice-one-Jim-ness from the Gryffindors, but not a single fleck of something incriminating.

I gritted my teeth. The flash was supposed to be so fast and unexpected it would catch any suspicious characters off-guard, whether they were students or –

My eyes snapped to Moody without thinking. His artificial eye, which normally spun in every direction, was unflinching in its focus on me. It was eerie having both eyes watching me from that twisted, scarred face, and I almost missed the fact he was toying with something beneath his shirt.

The voidrope necklace.

Out of the three people in the hall who had resisted the flash, not counting my friends and Blaise, Moody was by far the most suspicious. No matter his illustrious history of killing Death Eaters, the man was quite clearly unhinged – maybe unhinged enough to launch some kind of plot to lure evildoers into the open by putting Jim into the tournament. More sinister possibilities couldn't be ruled out either.

I should have looked away and pretended I was scanning the staff table in general. Instead, for the second time that evening, I had to stop myself from launching a psychic lance. It was too late. Moody could clearly see I had drawn a conclusion that involved him, and whether he was simply returning the favour or was inspecting a potential threat to his plans remained unclear.

* * *

Someone was waiting near the dungeons as we left the feast. The last person anyone would expect to deliberately place herself in the path of Slytherins on the way to bed was standing beside the entrance, her arms folded. She looked up when she saw us approaching.

I cocked my head curiously, and waved my friends on ahead. They seemed equally befuddled by the appearance of the school's biggest bookworm. After my conversation with Jim, I wasn't as surprised.

Hermione Granger approached me with slow, evenly-spaced steps. Her face was neutral, her body language calm. I eyed her with some bemusement. The psy-flash had betrayed her own shock at Jim's acceptance into the tournament, so I wasn't suspicious of her. Well, no more than anyone else.

"Potter," she said. "May I speak with you privately?"

"Sure. Granger, right?" I replied politely. She nodded and led me into a spare classroom. I seemed to spend a lot of time in places like this lately.

I paused next to a desk and clasped my hands in front of me. Granger wandered a little further into the room, her steps pensive. She halted near the professor's desk and turned on the spot to face me with her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. I met her gaze pleasantly and remained silent as she cast a privacy charm.

"You are likely aware," she began, "That I was involved, to a limited degree, in the events that transpired at Hogsmeade near the start of term."

I tilted my head slightly and said nothing. She clearly had a point to make.

"Though I was incapacitated by the assailant early on, I managed to retain my hearing through the use of the Mind Arts. Are you aware of the Bulwark technique?"

I felt a tingle of pleasure. It wasn't often I was surprised by someone's capabilities.

"I am," I said. "Something of a nascent Backup function, intended to allow the user to retain some amount of control of their bodies in the event of incapacitation. Crude and inferior to a true Backup, but also possible to learn at lower levels of Occlumency stability without wasting a function slot."

Granger nodded. "I confess my mastery of the technique is as crude as the technique itself," she said humbly. "But while I wasn't able to stay conscious in any useful sense, I _was_ able to maintain the parts of my brain responsible for hearing and remembering sound. It took me some time to realise I had memories that were pure audio, but after reflecting and drawing them to the surface, I was able to piece together some of what transpired during the period in which I was unconscious."

"Oh?" I said. "Anything interesting?"

Granger furrowed her brow. "I heard Potter – the other Potter, that is – charge into the Shrieking Shack. After a short period of silence, I heard a girl, who I believe to be Daphne Greengrass, pass by my body and say 'Not an illusion, then' as though talking to someone else. Despite this, I can only hear one set of footsteps. From the direction of her steps, I think she went to the window of the shack, then moved to fire a spell through the doorway. Afterwards, –"

"Granger," I interrupted gently. "You clearly heard something in particular that you want to discuss with me. I don't need a play-by-play from the perspective of a blind, unconscious observer."

Granger didn't bristle, but spots of colour appeared in her cheeks. "I overheard Potter and Greengrass have a conversation in the entrance room of the Shrieking Shack. It was faint, but given that my brain didn't really have anything else to do at that point, I managed to catch most of it quite clearly."

"And what part of that conversation would you like to discuss?" I asked.

Granger took a deep breath. "Shall I lay out the facts?"

"Please."

"You have given Greengrass – and likely more of your friends – a wearable item such as a ring or necklace through which you can communicate with them. You can also use said items to take full control of your friends' bodies, and even speak through their mouths and do magic with their wands. You are conducting your own investigation into the attack and seem to have a vested interest in your brother's safety. The mercenary was wearing a 'weird necklace' that interfered with your control over Greengrass's body, presumably meaning it is some kind of anti-Mind Arts item. Greengrass trusts you implicitly, and while your brother has reservations, he does as well."

I didn't react during her speech. The moment she mentioned she had overheard something from that day, I had reviewed my memories of that very conversation as seen from Daphne's perspective. I hadn't expected Granger to know the Bulwark technique, or even for her to have fallen close enough to the shack to hear any of what transpired inside. Despite my surprise, I didn't feel threatened by her knowledge. If anything, her discovery would paint me in a positive light from her perspective: someone of power who helps others.

I raised my eyebrows and spread my hands as though saying, _"And?"_

Granger didn't seem daunted by my silence. "I want something from you and I believe I can offer something valuable in return," she finally said.

"Elaborate," I said.

"You sounded surprised when you realised the assailant's necklace interfered with your mental abilities. I've done some research and I believe I know what the necklace may have been made of."

"I'm aware of voidrope. Do you have anything else?"

"But do you know where it comes from?" Granger said hurriedly.

"Fanes or burial sites," I said dismissively, half-turning my body as though preparing to leave. By forcing her to prove her worth, I hoped to make her blurt out something she would otherwise keep in reserve.

"But why was it used in fanes? And why were people buried with it?"

I didn't truly know the answer, but I had theories. "For its psychic containment properties. And, presumably, because they were thought to prevent evil spirits from rising from the grave."

"But you don't _know_ that, do you?" Granger pressed, perhaps sensing my reticence.

"Granger, I have other things on my mind at the moment," I said with a shrug. "I'll get around to researching fanes properly at some point, but unless you can explain why they should be of interest to me at this very moment, I really don't see a reason to value whatever scraps of knowledge you've found in the library that I missed."

Granger's eyes glinted. "Relevant? Would the fact that your home is located near one of the largest fanes in Britain be considered _relevant_ in your eyes?"

Damn it. I was interested.

"Potter Manor is unplottable," I said, turning to face her properly. "How would you know where it is?"

"Your brother told me."

"You two are close?"

"Acquaintances. I'm his unofficial advisor on questions relating to the Mind Arts. He's too proud to go running to you whenever he wants to know something. To everyone else, I'm just his new study-buddy."

I neglected to mention that Jim had, in fact, gone running to me for advice on the Mind Arts earlier today. I realised with no small amount of annoyance that my brother had likely used me to fact-check the information Granger was giving him. He likely already knew about Occlumency functions when he asked.

 _I can't ever let the others find out Jim tricked me. I'll never hear the end of it._

I didn't even have the voidrope fibre excuse anymore.

"Mind if I ask what kind of deal you've struck with him?" I said.

Granger smiled. "I needed him in order to find an angle I could use to get your attention. Imagine my surprise when I was poring over maps of discovered and suspected fanes in the United Kingdom and he leaned over and casually pointed out how close Potter Manor is to a certain site. I've also told him that I know about your abilities, and that I won't say anything as long as he doesn't tell you. I confessed I was afraid you might wipe my memories if you knew."

"Playing on his protective, heroic sensibilities in order to prevent me from seeing this coming until you were ready. Well done," I said sincerely.

Granger gave a tiny curtsy in appreciation of the praise, her bushy hair bobbing. The gesture rather warmed me to her.

"I suppose I might be interested in knowing more about fanes after all," I went on. "But what on earth could a humble Slytherin like myself offer someone as brilliant as you?"

Granger's lips twisted wryly. "The Mind Arts. I've gotten very far on my own, but if I had a tutor of your calibre…"

"Have you asked Professor Snape and the headmaster? They are much more experienced than me."

"I have, actually. In my second year. The headmaster was very kind; he explained he simply didn't have the time to tutor any one student to the degree I desired. As for Professor Snape, well, out of respect for your house I won't repeat what he said."

I nodded reasonably. That was about what I'd expected.

"I have two functions," Granger added on like credentials. "And I'm almost ready for a third."

"Protection and Memory, I'm guessing?"

"Protection and Thought," she corrected. "Traditional memorisation methods work just fine for my purposes."

At the early stages of Occlumency training, or even the intermediate stage that Granger was about to enter, it was important to think long and hard about what functions to get and in which order. Most chose Protection first, and if they bothered to go on it was usually for Memory. I liked Granger's confidence in her natural data retention skills.

"I've been teaching my friends since I met them and they haven't made as much progress as you've made on your own," I said. "Why do you think I'll be able to help you?"

"I'm better than them," Granger said bluntly, if not inaccurately. "I can keep up with the more advanced exercises."

I folded my arms in consideration. "I have to say, I don't remember you being this forthright a few years ago." The few times I'd noticed her in the previous years she had been either bossy or defensive, expecting a jab or insult at any second. Now that I gave her a proper examination, I noted that while she still seemed a bit stiff, she'd lost her habit of turning her nose up at people, and there was a shrewd sort of poise in the way she held herself.

Granger laughed mirthlessly. "When you get bullied regularly, you either develop a thick skin and find a source of confidence unrelated to social standing, or you crumble into a heap. I chose the former."

"I take it you don't get bothered very often anymore?"

"Strangely enough, no," she said lightly. "Must be my interpersonal skills finally blooming."

I grinned. She certainly didn't look like a victim anymore. I found myself coming around to the idea of spending time with her.

"Well, Granger, I don't know how much time I will be able to give you, so let's agree on an endpoint for our deal," I said.

Granger cocked her head. "You have other things to do?"

"Of course." I declined to elaborate, though she clearly wanted me to. "Shall we say, I'll help you attain your third function in return for your knowledge on fanes?"

She was shaking her head before I finished my sentence. "I'm so close to my third, that wouldn't be fair. Help me reach my fourth and I promise not to drip-feed you what I know about fanes to spread it over weeks."

"Your fourth could take us well into the next school year," I said, shaking my head in turn. "In that amount of time, I would be able to research fanes on my own."

Granger shrugged. "Do you have a counter-proposal?"

 _Oh, why not._

"I will help you until you are ready for your third function _and_ I will personally construct and implant it for no extra charge."

Her eyes widened. "You… Pardon me, it seems I continually underestimate your skill level. I didn't realise you were a master."

I bobbed my shoulders and smiled good-naturedly. "Very few people do."

"How, um, how many functions do you have?"

"The full seven, and no, I'm not going to tell you what they are."

Granger chuckled, a little breathlessly. "Right. Of course, Potter."

"Please call me Harry when we're together," I said genially.

"Only if you call me Hermione," she replied automatically, though her mind was clearly on other things.

"I'll be in contact when I have time for our first session." I went to the door and turned to look at her over my shoulder. "I have to say, Hermione, you've certainly got my attention now," I said with a grin. There may have been something wolfish about it.

Hermione's poise wavered, and she forced another laugh. "Oh, good," she said quietly.

I left her in the classroom. Her growing uncertainty was pummelling my senses and I figured she needed time to regain her composure. She had evidently expected me to be a prodigious but otherwise ordinary boy. By the end of our meeting, I think she was beginning to get an idea of just who she had gotten involved with.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Finally, an explanation of my funky fresh Occlumency system. This story is heavily focused around the Mind Arts, so there will be plenty more psychic shenanigans to come.**

 **Please review if you're enjoying the ride!**


	4. A Twisted Discovery

**Chapter 4: A Twisted Discovery**

 **1 November 1994**

 **Entrance Hall**

Morning brought the controversial news that Jim would be allowed to compete in the Triwizard Tournament despite being underage. This was all very exciting, with lots of gossip and drama and angst as Jim was simultaneously adored by some Gryffindors and given the cold shoulder by others who would have liked to enter their names as well.

In my neck of the woods, the news passed by mostly unremarked upon. My friends, those coming to see Lady Zabini, were gathered around me in our alcove as I issued quiet instructions. They consisted of Daphne, Tracey, Theo, and Draco, and we would be intercepting Astoria on her way to breakfast. They were wearing their mithril pendants, though they kept them tucked beneath their shirts. I realised with a pang that Blaise likely still had his pendant since I hadn't confiscated it from him. I had never been able to control him through it (which I now knew was due to his immunity to the Mind Arts) but I knew he liked having it as a symbol of being part of my inner circle. I hoped the fact that I hadn't taken it from him after turning him out gave him some solace.

"We'll be departing the school via the secret passage to Honeydukes' basement," I informed them. "From there, we'll use the fireplace in the Hog's Head Inn to reach the Zabini household. Lady Zabini is unhappy with me at the moment, so Daphne will need to go first and hold the connection open on the other end so the rest of us can follow her. I'll take it from there."

"I can't help but think someone might notice our absence," drawled Draco.

I shrugged. "I don't care."

"If I get detention because of this –"

"It will be worth it," I interrupted. "Because Astoria's safety is more important than detention."

Draco pursed his lips, his rant neutered. "Of course," he said.

"How's Pansy, by the way?"

The corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "Well, she managed to get a hangover from a spiked cup of pumpkin juice, so that doesn't bode well for our future parties."

Tracey giggled, and Theo cocked a smile. Daphne didn't react, her expression tight with worry.

"There she is," said Theo, nodding at the entrance to the dormitories. Astoria had just emerged, rubbing her eyes and trudging into the common room with less enthusiasm than I had ever seen from the curious girl.

"Then it's time to leave," I said. "Everyone brought a change of clothes?"

They nodded, and Daphne moved to intercept her sister just outside the common room. We flanked her, and without the girl seeming to realise it, we herded her out of the dungeons and away from the Great Hall.

"I'm _starving_ , why are you dragging me over here?" Astoria complained, giving us all suspicious looks.

Daphne passed her sister an energy bar from my private stock. Say what you want about Muggles, they knew how to pack as much value as possible into the smallest package.

Astoria was momentarily silenced as she chomped away. Indeed, she was so distracted that we were already in the secret passage before she noticed her surroundings. That wasn't like her. Normally, Astoria possessed an acute sense of intuition and an eye for detail.

"Where are we going?" Astoria asked warily, clinging to Daphne's sleeve.

"We're ditching class today," I said.

Astoria's eyes widened. "What?! I can't afford to ditch! My grades are already terrible no matter how much I study. They'll kick me out if I stop trying altogether."

I transfigured two loose stones into a couple of coat stands and pulled my robes over my head. Beneath them, I was wearing a simple black shirt and slacks. Draco had an Acromantula silk shirt and vest, while Theo had borrowed my Muggle jacket to wear over his school shirt. The sleeves nearly covered his hands and he had to keep pulling them up. Tracey and Daphne wore black tights under modest black skirts. Their shirts were two different shades of white, but Daphne's was long-sleeved with lace around her wrists.

"Um, I didn't bring any clothes," said Astoria nervously. "I'll just duck back and grab something –"

Daphne grabbed her sister's wrist with an iron grip before waving her wand and turning Astoria's school robes into a plain, knee-length dress. For a moment, disgust broke through Astoria's anxiety.

"Am I going to a grandma convention, Daphy?" she snapped.

Draco and Theo sniggered. Daphne was still tense. In fact, she hadn't looked relaxed since I saw her this morning. I doubted she had much sleep.

"Daphy?" murmured Draco. "That's a new one."

"She couldn't pronounce the 'n' when she was little," Daphne said shortly. "Now are we going somewhere or not?"

I led the way once more. Daphne kept Astoria in the middle of the group to make sure she didn't try and run off, but after a bit of sulking Astoria seemed to resign herself to her situation.

Making it to the Hog's Head was simple enough: I Disillusioned everyone before we passed the Hogwarts boundary, since any magic we did outside a sanctioned area would be detected by the Trace. Six pairs of footprints left tracks through the dust in Honeydukes' cellar, and more appeared along the side of the main street. I caught a glimpse of the Shrieking Shack back towards the lake, but there was nobody near it. The Aurors had likely processed and cleaned the crime scene weeks ago.

The change of clothes was a precaution in case we were spotted by a villager, but it turned out to be unnecessary. We made it to the side street that hosted the Hog's Head without issue, and if an outgoing patron noticed the door remained open for slightly longer than it should have before closing, he made no mention of it.

Aberforth Dumbledore, one of the more curious open secrets of the village, passed his gaze over us when the fireplace suddenly burst into green flames. There were only two other people in the inn, and both were passed out in a corner booth.

"Never known ghosts to use the Floo," Aberforth grumbled. I reached into my pocket and left a tidy stack of galleons on the counter.

While his goals in life hadn't been as lofty as his brother's, Aberforth was nobody's fool. He'd probably clocked me the second I walked in due to my recognisable psychic presence. Also, unlike his brother, he wasn't opposed to letting a few rules slide as long as he was compensated for the trouble.

The galleons disappeared into Aberforth's pocket without a sound, and he grumbled his way over to the passed-out patrons, away from the fireplace.

+Now, Daphne,+ I said through her pendant.

The flames distorted slightly as an invisible mass appeared in the middle of them.

"Sabrina Zabini's house," Daphne said as loudly as she dared.

After a moment of quiet crackling, a female voice issued forth from the fire. "Identify yourself."

"Daphne Greengrass."

A pause. "What is the nature of your visit?"

+Courtship advice.+

I could practically feel Daphne's scowl despite not being able to see it. She repeated my words.

"Enter," replied the voice.

Daphne was swallowed by the flames, but they remained green. She was holding the connection open at the other end. I stepped forward and was ejected into a lavish living room.

Burgundy drapes hung over the walls and windows, filtering the sunlight into gentle violet beams that criss-crossed the large room. Burnished silver stands were placed artfully through the room, each bearing tall, pale candles upon which scarlet flames danced. Incense burned on a drinks cabinet behind a luxurious velvet sofa, blanketing the room in heady fumes and turning the air hazy. The entire aesthetic seemed to be designed to feel heavy, warm, and intoxicating in its provocation of the five senses. I could easily imagine Sabrina leading men to their doom in such a pleasant trap.

When I saw Lady Zabini herself, I could suddenly imagine myself being led to my doom as well. It wasn't the first time I had met Blaise's mother, but it was first time I'd seen her in her hunting ground. Typically, visitors to the Zabini household emerged in a different fireplace on the other side of the building where a more reserved living room awaited them. It seemed Lady Zabini had decided Daphne's request required a more appropriate environment.

Lady Zabini wore a white, long-sleeve shirt with loose, hanging cuffs decorated with lace. Red skirts fell to her ankles, layered in a traditional Spanish style. She was barefoot. Opals glinted at her ears and throat, reflecting little specks of colour onto her caramel skin. Red lips pursed as I revealed myself, and dark eyes flashed with irritation.

"You are not welcome here, Mister Potter," she said coldly.

The candles crackled and hissed, spitting red sparks. They seemed to be sympathetically connected to Lady Zabini's emotions. I wondered what they looked like when she –

No, that wasn't something I should be wondering about. However, I did note tiny scorch marks on the ceiling above every candle. Food for thought.

"I understand, and I apologise for my rudeness," I replied, bowing my head as my friends materialised behind me. Theo was last to prevent Astoria from ducking back through. The girl looked exceedingly nervous, and I couldn't blame her. Sabrina Zabini looked like the sort of woman whose scorn was on a motivational poster in the Devil's office.

"I would not have offended you like this if it weren't a life or death matter," I continued.

Lady Zabini's eyes flickered. "Blaise?"

"My sister," said Daphne, pulling Astoria out from where she had been hiding behind us.

"What?" said Astoria. "What do I have to do with anything?"

+It might be best if Astoria doesn't hear this discussion. I'll fill you in afterwards.+

Daphne patted Astoria's arm and took a few steps towards the door. "I'll let Harry explain. Is there somewhere quiet we can use for meditation?" she asked.

Lady Zabini eyed us curiously, no doubt having noticed subtle cues in our body language that betrayed our non-verbal communication. "Blissy," she called. A house elf in a little maid dress appeared. "Please escort Miss Greengrass and her sister to the chapel."

As they left, I turned my gaze back to our unwilling host. "Do you know much about the Mind Arts, Lady Zabini?" I asked, cutting straight to the heart of it.

"No more than any Hogwarts graduate," she said smoothly. "I didn't have the knack for it. Too… emotional." Theo scratched his nose to signal the lie, but it was too obvious to miss anyway.

"You see, Astoria is afflicted with something," I went on regardless. "Something I believe you might be familiar with."

She arched one dark eyebrow. "If _you_ cannot explain this… _affliction_ , then what makes you think I could?"

"Because the more I think about it, the more convinced I am that you've encountered it before, or something similar to it. I believe you encountered a powerful working of the Mind Arts many years ago that inspired your hatred of them."

* * *

"Daphy, I don't want to do this," Astoria whined. She looked absolutely miserable, and tears welled in her eyes.

They were in the 'chapel', a large room lined with charts and diagrams of meditation postures. The ceiling was enchanted to appear infinitely high, making Daphne feel as though she was falling when she looked up. Soft mats were spaced evenly across the floor for kneeling, sitting, and stretching. The lights were dim, but not in a sensual way like the living room. Grey mist rolled across the floor, giving the room a dreamlike quality.

Daphne hardened her aching heart. "This is for your own good," she said firmly. "I need to put you in a meditative state so we can perform a proper examination once Harry's finished digging."

Astoria's eyes flashed with raw, primal fear. Her lips pulled back from her teeth, and Daphne saw a hint of animalistic quickness in her sister that she had only seen when she was properly scared. Daphne quickly bound Astoria's hands and feet in conjured rope just as Astoria began to struggle and yank at her restraints.

"No! Please Daphne! I don't want to meditate!" she wailed.

"I know you don't," Daphne said, as calmly as she could when her heart was breaking. "Something doesn't want you to. It's afraid, so it's making you afraid. We're going to find it and stop it from making you feel this way."

Astoria barely seemed to hear her, twisting and kicking with all of her strength.

"Begging your pardon, Miss Daffy," said Blissy the house elf. Daphne started a little; she hadn't realised it was still present. The elf poked its long forefingers against each other, nervously glancing up at her. "But Mistress has a special heirloom for helping people relax when they are, um, not feeling sociable." The house elf was very well spoken, and Daphne regretted not taking the time to teach Tabby back home how to speak like that.

"Very well," said Daphne. "Bring it to me, please."

* * *

"You barge into my house unannounced and expect me to entertain your curiosity?" Lady Zabini said flatly.

I recognised the problem at once. Besides the obvious rudeness of our deception, Lady Zabini was known for shunning large gatherings, preferring smaller, intimate meetings between one or two. I had just dumped a fair-sized group into the heart of her fortress, the place she was supposed to feel most at home. She was normally the one on the offence in this room, never the other way around.

"Can you all go make sure Astoria doesn't cause a ruckus?" I said to my friends.

Theo, as the most socially aware person in the group, had probably noticed the problem the second he entered the room. He quickly led Draco and Tracey out of the room, pausing only to give a respectful, apologetic bow to Lady Zabini. She appeared surprised but pleased by the gesture.

+You'd make a brilliant diplomat, Theo+

I sensed him smile.

Alone with Lady Zabini, the atmosphere thickened. I couldn't detect any enchantments at work, which meant, embarrassingly, that I was simply nervous about being in the presence of such a dangerous, enticing woman. In private, I often prided myself on having the intellectual acuity to avoid the usual problems associated with hormonal fluctuations in teenage boys. Evidently, I wasn't as divorced from my biology as I had thought.

"Shall we sit?" said Lady Zabini.

I collected myself and took my place beside her on the velvet sofa. The lady of the house seemed much more at ease speaking one-on-one, as I expected.

"Why do you hate the Mind Arts?" I asked quietly.

Lady Zabini smoothed her layered skirts with elegant, practiced motions, but I could see her mind had gone somewhere dark and uncomfortable.

"That is a very personal question, Mister Potter," she replied.

I decided it was only fair for me to open up first.

"I have treated your son poorly, and for that I'm sorry," I said honestly. "It was out of fear. In a single day, I learned that my friend wasn't just psychically dull, but was in fact designed to be immune to the Mind Arts altogether. Not only that, but I also learned that the Unspeakables were aware of it and were actively using Blaise to make me do things for them. I felt outflanked having Blaise around me all the time, so I pushed him away."

Lady Zabini stared at me as I spoke, her expression unreadable. "I see," she said. After a long, painful minute, she sighed. "I'm about to share something with you that I have never shared with anyone else, Mister Potter."

"That can't be the first time you've said that on this sofa," I quipped, unable to resist.

She gave me a predatory smile that made my heart race, but it faded into a solemn, regretful expression.

"I had a brother, did you know?" she said, clearly not expecting an answer. Her eyes were distant. "Marius. We were quite close."

Lady Zabini reached for a bottle of something on the drinks cabinet behind the sofa and poured herself a drink. She didn't offer me anything, and I didn't take offence.

"I was still in Hogwarts when he graduated and joined my father in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she went on. "I was so proud of him. My big brother, going off to fight the bad guys like Papa. Of course, our family was supposed to be neutral. Papa was quite the clever man, keeping Death Eaters away from our family without becoming a target himself. Marius, unfortunately, had not lived long enough to acquire that same cleverness. He slipped up and revealed our Light-leaning preferences to a man who most had thought was above reproach due to his family ties."

Pieces slid into place.

"Barty Crouch Junior," I said.

Lady Zabini blinked. "Yes," she said. "How did you know?"

"Please, continue. It will take too long to explain."

After a moment of hesitation, she did as I asked. "When he finally revealed his true self to the public, I learned that Crouch was a foul man, among the cruellest and most capable of the Dark Lord's servants. Some say the only reason he didn't stand at the Dark Lord's side was because he was too much of a threat, and so the Lord wisely kept him from climbing too high." Her eyes flicked to mine. "He was also, as I'm sure you know, quite capable in the Mind Arts."

I nodded.

Lady Zabini released a shaky breath. "He… _implanted_ something in Marius. Something that grew in power the longer it was allowed to fester."

Ice slid down my spine.

"It sapped him of strength while we all wondered what was wrong with him," she said mournfully. "Until one day, as Marius was speaking to our parents in the chapel… it came out."

* * *

Blissy returned to the chapel with a silver chain necklace, intricately carved with calming runes designed to drop the user into an instant state of meditation.

Daphne inspected the necklace dubiously. "Are you certain this will help her?" she asked.

Blissy nodded quickly. "It always helped Master Marius." The elf sighed sadly. "Poor Master Marius."

Daphne didn't bother asking who Marius was. No doubt he was one of Lady Zabini's ill-fated husbands. She wasn't foolish enough to start digging into _that_ whole mess.

Theo, Draco, and Tracey entered the misty chapel together, looking around with no small amount of wonder. When they saw Astoria tied up and writhing on the floor, their expressions turned grave.

"Where's Harry?" asked Daphne.

"He needed to be alone with Lady Zabini before she would talk to him," Theo informed her.

Tracey approached Astoria and knelt beside her. "We're trying to help you, Tori," she murmured.

The girl didn't even seem to hear her, her eyes wide and darting like a spooked horse. Even Draco seemed unnerved.

"Should we take her to St Mungo's?" he queried, coming to stand beside Daphne.

"This is weird," Theo said nervously. "She's barely lucid right now. Her fear is entirely instinctual. It's overwhelming her."

"Whatever is inside her is aware it's about to be destroyed," Daphne said, projecting confidence she didn't feel.

* * *

"My sixth son, Graham, passed recently," Lady Zabini said quickly, as though afraid to dwell on him too long. "In his will, he left me some information he had learned during his brief career as an Unspeakable. It was more than I expected, and far more than I deserved." She bowed her head, and I sensed a painful stab of grief tear through her. The candles shrunk in size and intensity, becoming soft little points of light in the hazy room.

"The thing inside Marius was classified as a psy-vortex by the Unspeakables that investigated the case," she said. "It began as something small and barely noticeable, but fed upon the strength of his body, growing more and more powerful until his mind could no longer contain it. The day it was unleashed, he was having an argument with our parents. I could hear them from the other side of the house. I hated listening to my family fight, so I hid in my room and put a pillow over my head."

Tears rolled down her flawless cheeks. I reached out to touch her shoulder, concerned. She stared at the fire morosely.

"Something tore through the house. Psychic backwash, apparently. It brought the wards down with its intensity. I lied earlier, you know. I learned Occlumency while at school, just like Marius and my parents before me. But when the psy-vortex engulfed my brother and killed my parents, it sent out waves of psychic energy that obliterated my fragile Occlumency foundations. It tore up my mind so I would never be able to learn the Mind Arts, like a burned limb forever losing the sense of touch." She shrugged and gave me a sad little smile. "So you see, despite my hatred of the Mind Arts, I am utterly vulnerable to them. I couldn't protect myself from them if I tried."

"How was the vortex contained?" I asked softly.

"It wasn't. Blissy was in my room with me, and when the wards went down, she followed her emergency instructions and Apparated me to St Mungo's before trying to go back for the rest of my family. They were already dead. The vortex destroyed the old chapel and most of the house. Only the library was left standing, which was where I spent most of my days after I finally recovered enough to return home. It was there I found a possible method for making someone immune to the Mind Arts."

I imagined those sad days, the worst days of Lady Zabini's life. A teenage girl, alone but for her faithful elf, sitting in the ruins of her former life, poring over books. Her grief turned to obsession, her love turned into a willingness to do whatever it took to create a family member that couldn't be taken from her by the foul workings of the Mind Arts.

"The symptoms of this psy-vortex are similar to what Astoria has been experiencing," I said.

Lady Zabini gave me a pained look. "If that's true, Mister Potter, then you must keep her away from those you love, no matter how painful it is to do so. Then, at least, you might not be left with nothing."

"There must be another solution," I insisted. "It was implanted, so surely it can be extracted."

"I have done no small amount of research on this. Once it has begun, the vortex _will_ reach its completion. It might be possible to transfer it to another mind, but someone will still need to die."

I gritted my teeth, thinking furiously. "What about delaying tactics? Is there a way to slow the vortex to give us more time to find a solution?"

Lady Zabini hesitated, then shook her head. "I don't know. Perhaps a partial activation would… release the pressure, so to speak, but it would build up again as quickly as before. Not to mention, attempting something like that would be extraordinarily dangerous."

"How would it be activated?" I pressed.

* * *

Daphne planted a gentle kiss on her sister's cheek. The necklace shook in her hands as she slowly brought it over Astoria's head.

"Don't worry," she whispered. "This will calm you down so we can help you."

* * *

"Forcing the afflicted person into a meditative state would likely cause an immediate activation," said Lady Zabini. "It's why those with a vortex inside them begin instinctively avoiding practicing such things. In the notes Graham left me on the case, I believe the cause of Marius's activation was an old family heirloom designed to assist unruly children when they are first learning to meditate. Blissy had just delivered it to the chapel before she came to comfort me in my room. I've never told her the necklace was responsible. She would only blame herself, and the vortex would have gone off eventually regardless, since we were so ignorant of its nature. It's possible she even spared Marius a more painful activation when the vortex was at full strength."

So absorbed in Lady Zabini's tale and my own thoughts, I almost missed it when a sliver of psychic energy shot out of the house at literally the speed of thought. I analysed its nature before it escaped. It was a signal powered by the energy building within Astoria's mind, zooming off to warn the artificer that his work was being activated.

Crouch was coming.

+STOP!+

My mental roar rolled through the house and the surrounding countryside for several miles in every direction. Lady Zabini was knocked unconscious, slumping against the sofa, spilling her drink across the velvet. Birds fell from the sky and pattered against the fields outside, dead. Insects died in their millions, their tiny non-brains fried by a single word from a being they couldn't even see, let alone comprehend.

Milliseconds.

I Apparated to my friends in the chapel, ripping through the collapsing wards like a cannonball through silk. They were standing around Daphne as she knelt beside Astoria. Her hands were still touching the necklace as it hung from Astoria's neck.

Thinking. Doing. Milliseconds.

The vortex lurked behind the girl's eyes, so close, so terrifyingly close to wiping away her consciousness like an errant speck of dirt. I threw my full power against it, a thousand hands enclosing the vortex before it could manifest, compressing it, scrabbling desperately for a way to undo the activation and return it to dormancy. My efforts consumed my every thought. I was dead to the world.

* * *

Daphne blinked away her shock. She had only just put the calming necklace on Astoria, and suddenly Harry was standing among them, his face contorted in a raw, urgent grimace. The others were equally surprised, stumbling back from the wave of power filling the chapel. Psychic frost covered the floor and walls in an instant.

Daphne gasped, heaving air into her lungs. Her blood was thundering. Vaguely, she recalled being told to stop, which her body had apparently interpreted as ' _stop breathing'_. Theo had his hands on his head, blood pouring from his nostrils. Draco seemed to be having trouble making his limbs move. Tracey was crying.

"What's going on?" Daphne choked out. "Harry?"

Harry didn't respond, didn't move. He was frozen in place, and she noticed that Astoria was as well, her face locked in an endless, silent scream.

"The wards just collapsed," said Draco, his slick blonde hair coming loose due to sweat. They drew their wands, all except Theo, Harry, and Astoria.

"Protection functions," Daphne ordered. Only Draco obeyed. Tracey's Occlumency foundations would likely never be able to support any functions due to her personality, and Theo didn't seem to hear her, falling to his knees with a gasp of pain.

"Tracey, look after Theo," said Daphne turning around on the spot, inspecting the chapel for anything out of the ordinary. The temperature had dropped well below zero, causing ice crystals to form in the air. A miniature blizzard coiled around Harry and Astoria. The pressure inside the chapel fluctuated wildly, making Daphne's ears pop.

Even with her Protection function active, it was impossible to ignore the psychic energy battering against her shields. Theo, as the most psychically sensitive person in the group, was also the most vulnerable. It would be all he could do to stay sane and weather this storm. Tracey, as someone without a Protection function, was only slightly better off. Her lesser sensitivity made her less exposed, but at a certain point, it didn't matter how sensitive a person was – the energy would tear through them no matter what.

Tracey pulled the collapsed Theo against her chest with one hand and brandished her wand with the other. Sleet constantly flew into her eyes, forcing her to blink repeatedly.

"What do we do?" Tracey cried.

"Be ready!" Daphne shouted. She tried to think, to replace her panic with logic. Harry was clearly contending with the thing inside Astoria, so if danger was going to come from anywhere, it was going to come from outside. And if the wards were down, they were the only protection left. Lady Zabini was absent for some reason, so they couldn't count on her.

Her instincts screamed at her.

 _Someone else is here!_

With an agonised scream, Theo tore free of Tracey's grasp and drew his wand. In one, fluid motion, he conjured a concrete cube half a metre in width – just in time to intercept a Killing Curse that flashed through the blizzard, heading straight for Harry. Theo had sensed the intruder's intent in time to block it, but the effort had cost him. The faithful boy fell to the floor, no longer able to stay conscious against the whirling psychic storm.

The conjured cube exploded from the curse, throwing pieces of rock into the powerful winds that shook the walls of the chapel. Daphne followed the path of the Killing Curse, knowing she had only an instant to find the caster.

 _There!_

Sleet and debris avoided a mysteriously empty patch of air in the shape of a man. Daphne sent a Knockback Jinx towards the attacker, but it was easily dodged. However, by moving, their foe made himself far more visible. Tracey and Draco didn't wait for permission to attack.

The three of them bombarded the invisible man with spells, falling into one of the defensive formations Harry had them practice over the holidays. There had been times when she privately thought he was being obsessive and paranoid by drilling them, but now she was forced to acknowledge those drills were the only reason they were still alive.

Worst Case, Single Target, Three Up was the name of the formation. It was essentially a battle plan designed for use against another Dark Lord. In practical terms, that meant delaying and blocking more than fighting. Three teenagers, no matter how good their tutor, weren't meant to take down an experienced, powerful foe of this calibre.

A laughing, mocking voice carried through the room, distorted weirdly by the rushing wind.

"Two people. My whole life, I've only been lucky enough to grant my Lord's twisted gift to two people, and they both bloomed in the same chapel!" A giggle. "What are the odds?"

They were conditioned against taunting. Harry had charmed training dummies to say the most hurtful, enticing, and distracting things possible while they were fighting. Instead of responding, Daphne moved to cover the left flank while Draco took the right. Tracey, as the most vulnerable, took the centre, where she could be covered from both sides. They kept up a constant flow of offensive spells and counterspells, but the strain of fighting beside the nascent psychic storm hindered their efforts.

The intruder became visible through the sleet: a freckled, grinning face below wild blonde hair. Daphne watched him cautiously as she fought. He was very adept at blocking and dodging their spells, but he hadn't returned fire yet. She was missing something.

"You've all forgotten something, kiddies!" he cackled, echoing Daphne's thoughts. "Potter's mind might be busy right now, but mine isn't!"

 _No!_

Before the fight had even gone ten seconds, a massive weight crashed into Daphne's mental shields. Her Protection function strained and creaked under the pressure. Only Harry's expert craftsmanship kept it from buckling altogether.

Tracey didn't even have that.

Draco must have realised the same thing, because he put a Shield Charm over Tracey just as Daphne shot a counterspell at the attacker. Her spell actually struck him, and the psychic onslaught lessened.

 _Of course! Attacking us psychically means his thoughts are occupied. He can't fight mentally and physically at the same time._

Tracey, spared from the brutal attack by her friends' quick thinking, found herself in a unique position. For a brief few seconds, Draco's Shield Charm left her as the only person in the room who was unaffected by any kind of mental attack, whether from the intruder or the awakening storm. She stared at her friends, trying to force her thoughts into motion and come up with some brilliant plan. Daphne and Draco were under strain, Theo was unconscious, and Harry hadn't moved an inch since his sudden arrival.

There was no telling how long it would be until Harry could take control of the situation. With only two fighters capable of resisting the intruder for a significant length of time, they'd be overrun in moments.

" _Expecto Patronum!_ " hissed Tracey. A silvery hummingbird burst from the tip of her wand and hovered in front of her face. "Blaise, your house is under attack!" With a flick of her wand, the Patronus absorbed her message. It was supposed to shoot into the ceiling and fly towards Hogwarts, but instead, it flew over her shoulder, towards the door – where Blaise stood, his wand out, his expression grim.

There was no time for explanations. Blaise rushed forward and stood between Tracey and the intruder just as the Shield Charm failed and she was left vulnerable once more. Blaise took her place in the formation, replacing her weakness with his mental immunity. The psychic storm hardly even seemed to affect him, though that wouldn't matter if it grew strong enough to simply obliterate his mind.

Thirteen seconds had passed since combat began.

Heartened by Blaise's inexplicable arrival, Daphne and Draco engaged once more. Tracey hovered back near Theo, Harry, and Astoria, waiting to intercept any curses that got through. The intruder was still smiling, but there was something wry about it, like a veteran witnessing a couple of recruits pull off a manoeuvre in a passable fashion. Now that he was fighting back, they were able to take a measure of his martial ability. His duelling style was complex and multi-layered, interspersing physical spells with mental _jolts_ , little bursts of psychic energy meant to throw them off-guard for a split-second. The students found themselves reaching for every scrap of experience Harry had drilled into them.

The intruder launched himself into the air. The ceiling enchantment had broken at some point from the chaos, its infinite height replaced with ordinary wooden beams. At the apex of his magically augmented leap, he flung four Killing Curses in rapid succession, one for each of the combatants. They all conjured concrete blocks to absorb the curses, but by being forced to focus on their immediate defence, nobody was left to guard Harry, Theo, and Astoria.

Nobody except Blissy the house elf, popping out of thin air with a determined look on her face. As the intruder cast another Killing Curse at Harry, Blissy clicked her fingers and square tiles literally hopped out of the floor to intercept it. The intruder landed lightly, his smile growing with the number of enemies.

Eighteen seconds had passed since combat began.

The exchange of fire began once more, but despite the odds, the intruder showed no signs of slowing down. But while his energy seemed limitless, he didn't try any big moves again.

Daphne thought furiously. There hadn't been an opportunity to test her theory about being distracted while using the Mind Arts in battle, which meant he was likely aware she had made the connection when her counterspell hit him. Of course he wouldn't do it again, she scolded herself, that spell was the only one to hit him so far.

But then, what _was_ he doing? Part of her didn't want to follow that thought path. They were holding out, and that was all that mattered. Except… even with four opponents against him, he rarely made any attempt to disable them. His shields were strong enough to withstand simultaneous attacks, but he never tried to hide behind them and pull off a more complicated spell. It was almost like he didn't really care whether he beat them in this fight, like he was…

 _Stalling._

Daphne glanced back at Harry and Astoria, who were being protected by Blissy. Harry was pale and sweating, like a man pushing a boulder up a mountain. Her eyes fell to the enchanted necklace, still on Astoria's neck. Daphne didn't know what was happening, but it had only started when she used the necklace. Was it hindering Harry's ability to help Astoria?

"Blissy, get the necklace!" she shouted behind her.

The intruder heard her, and suddenly the fight became one-sided. He ripped their shields apart and started using Killing Curses liberally, forcing them to repeatedly conjure stone blocks at the last second. He advanced towards them with steady steps, reducing the time they had to react to his spells. They were completely on the defensive, and it was only a matter of time before someone failed to conjure a block in time.

Blissy yanked the necklace off Astoria's neck.

* * *

The great barrier preventing me from containing the psy-vortex vanished. I could think again.

Astoria relaxed into unconsciousness immediately, her frozen scream replaced by peaceful slumber.

I turned my head and took in the situation at a glance.

Blissy was protecting me, Theo, and Astoria, her face scrunched up in a fierce glare. Daphne was on the right flank of a textbook Worst Case, Single Target, Three Up formation that was fraying under the pressure of an unstoppable assault. Draco had the left flank, while Blaise of all people was in the centre, his psychic dullness making him well-suited to the jolts Crouch kept sending out to throw them off-guard. Tracey was in the back since she didn't have a Protection function, watching for flanks and occasionally throwing an unexpected jinx from between her friends, trying to catch their foe off-guard.

And Crouch himself… was looking right at me. I could sense that the Killing Curse had been used over a dozen times in the past twenty seconds. That's over a dozen attempts to kill my friends.

In the space between heartbeats, I mustered my will and sent a psychic lance towards Crouch. He Disapparated just before it hit him. The far wall of the chapel was blown outwards, but instead of chunks of Crouch's head, the grounds outside were pelted with pieces of masonry. It was disappointing.

With the vortex dormant once more, the powerful, swirling winds died down and the temperature returned to normal. The frost that blanketed the floor and walls immediately began to melt, and soon we were standing in an inch of water. Like an airtight chamber being breached, the missing wall coincided with the air pressure equalising, causing everyone's ears to pop one last time.

"Bring Sabrina here," I told Blissy. "I don't think he's coming back, but I don't want her out of sight until the wards have been rebuilt."

I went to examine Astoria, but sagged to my knees before taking a single step. An avalanche of exhaustion crashed down on my back, trying to force me to the ground where sleep could take over. I pushed it away. Just because I couldn't sense Crouch anymore didn't mean he wasn't present. If anyone had access to voidrope, it would be a former member of the Dark Lord's inner circle.

My friends were as tired as I was, having been pushed past their limits by both the duel and the mental trauma inherent in being close to the birth of a psy-vortex. Theo was still unconscious, a natural defence mechanism against such an assault – the same one I had activated inside Astoria to give her relief. Daphne and Draco were crouching with identical looks of pain as migraines developed as a result of their Protection functions nearly being burned to a crisp. Tracey was experiencing a rather more severe reaction, curled up on the floor and shivering. She had soiled herself, the evidence of which I erased with a flick of my wand before anyone could notice. She likely wasn't even aware of anything beyond the pounding inside her head.

I was so, so proud of them.

Blaise was the only one still standing. His nature and the comparatively short exposure time meant he had weathered the psychic storm better than anyone else, but he still looked like he'd just finished a marathon.

We locked eyes.

"Pansy told me where you were going," Blaise said without preamble. "I followed to try and keep my mum from strangling you, but when I arrived the wards were down and I heard fighting in the chapel." He forced a laugh. "I knew mum would react poorly to seeing you, but…" He gestured at the ruined chapel. "This is a bit much, even for her."

"Blaise…" I said.

He shook his head. "Let's not get emotional," he said dryly. "You had reason to doubt my loyalty. Keeping my mother's secrets was dangerous, and they left you blind to a hidden weakness. But you know everything now. There's no way my psychic immunity can be used against you if you know it's coming. So… with consideration to my actions just now… I hope that reason has been nullified too," Blaise finished quietly, meeting my gaze.

"It has," I said. We shared a tight smile.

Daphne made an approving noise despite still nursing her head. "What about Astoria? Will she be okay? I wasn't sure what would happen when the necklace came off."

"In a weird way, the necklace is what saved her," I said. "It forced her into a state of mind that caused the activation, but it also kept her in that state of mind, which hindered the vortex's ability to grow. It wouldn't have mattered in the long run, but it delayed it long enough for me to use my own power as a 'shunt' of sorts to try and siphon the energy out of her head and make it easier to handle. In short… she's very, very lucky to be alive. You have no idea how close she came to being wiped out."

Daphne staggered over to her sister and knelt in the meltwater. She leaned forward and pressed her forehead against Astoria's, whispering softly. I rose to my feet with a groan and gave them some space.

Blissy reappeared with a woozy-looking Sabrina. She looked beautiful even while dizzy and unfocused. I pulled her arm around my shoulder so she could lean on me. Somehow, my legs found enough strength to keep us both upright.

"Explain," she groaned.

So I did.

When I finished, she turned to Blissy and gently touched the elf's head. The gesture was familiar and laden with love. "Activate the backup wards," said Sabrina. Blissy nodded and vanished.

A few seconds later, I felt magic swell from somewhere underneath the house before rushing outwards to reinforce the broken wards. On the grounds, chunks of ashlar that had been blown clear of the chapel when I knocked down the wall began tumbling back towards us as though blown by an invisible wind.

I opened my mouth in alarm, but Sabrina patted my arm reassuringly. "The secondary wards include a reconstruction protocol," she said. "After what happened last time, I… wanted to be prepared."

"Very wise of you," said Draco, pinching the skin at his temples as thought trying to give his brain more space. The pain of his migraine was a candle beside what had happened earlier, but I still felt for him. In truth, I had wondered how well the Malfoy heir would fare in a proper duel, since his family was the sort to follow the current rather than stand in its way, but he had proven himself reliable and effective. All the practice duels we ran during the holidays probably helped. For my friends, fighting wasn't a decision with many choices, it was an instinctive response.

"I may request something similar for Malfoy Manor, just in case," Draco went on, watching the wall rebuild itself piece by piece. "Given Crouch's previous associations, it's only sensible." Meaning that if the Death Eater decided that Draco's actions today meant the Malfoys were no longer aligned with the organisation's interests, they would become targets.

"Would the new wards evict any unwanted guests?" I asked.

"Yes," replied Sabrina. "I can say with certainty that the murderer has left the estate."

I nodded satisfactorily. If I couldn't sense his psychic presence, and the wards couldn't detect his magical signature, then he was as gone as gone could be.

"In that case, I'm going to check everyone's mind for damage, and then pass out."

Sabrina and Blissy followed me around the room, the three of us supporting each other. Embarrassingly, the elf carried most of the weight.

I checked on Draco first, since he was the closest. He submitted to my inspection with a grimace that I sympathised with. After an assault like that, it was difficult to lower one's guard enough to allow access. Draco's Protection function was blistered and burnt from the assault, but it was slowly restoring itself. A good night's sleep would refresh the function and bring it back up to combat status. Crouch's attack, while merciless, hadn't penetrated any further than the function itself. With so many targets, plus the psy-vortex messing with everyone's heads, I wasn't surprised.

Daphne was next. I gently lay a hand on the top of her head while she tended to Astoria. Her abilities were comparable to Draco's, and the damage was the same. I hesitated, then kissed her hair.

"The vortex is contained for now," I said quietly. "Much of its energy was depleted, so she'll be happier and less tired for the next month or two, until it builds up again."

"I almost killed her, Harry," Daphne whispered.

"You were trying to help her. You had no idea this would happen. And in any case, you didn't kill her. She's going to feel fine when she wakes up, and you've actually bought us more time to find a proper solution." I let go of Sabrina for a moment so I could kneel and hug Daphne from behind. "Your actions have prolonged her life."

Daphne turned to look me in the eyes. There were tear tracks down her elegant cheeks. "No," she said. "Yours did." Then she leaned forward and kissed my lips.

I was so exhausted and off-guard that I didn't register what was happening until it was over. Daphne wiped her eyes and turned back to Astoria, stroking her hair. I didn't know what to say, so I squeezed Daphne's shoulder and stood up.

Lastly, we hobbled over to Theo and Tracey. Blaise had raised their bodies out of the meltwater and onto an enlarged meditation mat. I dreaded what I might find. Worse, I dreaded I might not find anything at all, that one or both of my dearest friends might have had their consciousness overwritten by the psy-vortex. Tracey's lack of psychic ability gave her some protection, but Theo's sensitivity…

"You must not shy away," Sabrina whispered in my ear. "No matter how cruel the world may be, you must never flinch."

I swallowed and checked Tracey first. My stomach churned as seconds passed. I checked Theo next. The others were watching me, squinting through their migraines. I sat back and gave a little sob.

"Harry?" said Blaise, close to panic.

"Sorry," I said. "They're okay. They're going to need therapy with Mind Healers though – maybe months of it. Theo was unconscious for most of the fight, which means his conscious mind was spared from the trauma. When he's awake, he'll feel and act normally, but when he sleeps… it's going to be difficult. Tracey only just passed out, which is honestly the best state for her to be in right now. We'll need to get them both to St Mungo's before they wake up."

"How are we going to spin this?" asked Draco. "Seven students skipped school, and two of them wound up in St Mungo's. There are going to be questions."

"Teenage mischief," I said with a shrug. "Healers won't reveal the exact nature of their injuries, not even to Dumbledore, and I doubt he'd be in a hurry to expose what happened here anyway. The general public is very much in the dark when it comes to high-level Mind Arts techniques. We'll return to Hogwarts and accept our detentions. Worse comes to worst, I'll use the Unspeakables to forge a more convincing cover story, but I don't think we need to overcomplicate things at this early stage."

"Right, let's keep things nice and simple," Blaise said mildly.

I mustered a shaky smile. "You know me."

* * *

Three weeks of detention was the price of victory. Considering the price of defeat, I wasn't complaining. In the days that followed the showdown at the Zabini household, my group was interrogated by various members of the faculty in an attempt to find out where we went and what we did.

They began working on the outer edges of my group: Pansy, Crabbe, Goyle, plus tertiary acquaintances in other years and houses. Slytherins were well-versed in the consequences for squealing, however, and nobody in the other houses had any idea what we were up to. The faculty's focus turned to the offenders themselves, picking us off one by one for a chat with various teachers. Even Snape got involved. But no matter how long the pregnant pauses stretched, none of us spoke. No matter how over-the-top the threats became, nobody cracked.

Two weeks into our detention, we were eating breakfast in the Great Hall when the mail arrived. In a flurry of feathers and parchment, students received their daily glimpse into the events of the outside world. Enough time had passed for people to get bored of our indiscretions, and the First Task of the Triwizard tournament was still a couple of weeks away. Students ate and spoke with an air of resignation, already dreading the day of classes ahead of them. The foreigners still joined us for breakfast, but they too were settling into a routine. Krum ate with my group more often than not, and I was pleased to find he was tactful enough not to ask any difficult questions about our missing members.

Not all of the Durmstrang students shared his social awareness.

"Where eez Tracey?" asked a worried-looking boy with dark, curly hair.

Krum cleared his throat quietly. For a moment I thought I saw his gaze slide over my friends in plain embarrassment. "Anton Black," he introduced with a quiet rumble.

I raised an eyebrow. "Black?"

"No relation to your godfather," Krum added.

Anton was clearly annoyed at being ignored. "Where eez Tracey?" he repeated.

"She's in St Mungo's," I replied politely. "She was in an accident, but she will be fine."

Once he deciphered my accent, his face went very pale. I sensed the sudden burst of anguish inside him and felt guilty that I was partly to blame.

"When will she return?" said Anton.

"A few months."

Anton's expression darkened. "She was een accident on same day you were all gone. You put her in danger?"

My guilt vanished. "Anton," I said coldly. "Choose your words carefully."

Krum reined in his classmate with a stern glance. Anton still looked disgruntled as he moved further down the table.

"Not everyone appreciates the reality of situation," Krum murmured quietly in apology.

Maybe I was just antsy due to the memory of the fight being thrust to the forefront of my mind, but Krum's polite, respectful manner was starting to grate on me. I understood he felt he owed me a family debt because I happened to save his father's life, but I found it difficult to respect a bootlicker. I even began to wonder if he was mocking me somehow.

"How's Astoria?" I asked Daphne quietly. She was sitting beside me, skimming a letter from her father that had her frowning. I'd informed her of my belief that her father was being blackmailed by Crouch, but there wasn't a lot we could do to investigate at the moment.

"Her grades have picked up and she seems a lot happier," Daphne replied, just as quietly. "But that's only temporary, isn't it? Eventually the psy-vortex will build up again and drain her energy."

"We've got a plan for that," I said calmly. "And Lady Zabini is looking for alternative solutions as well."

My words were only half-empty consolations. At the moment, despite our collective research and Lady Zabini's assistance, it seemed the only way to save Astoria was to transplant the vortex into someone else's mind. If that ended up being the only option, then it was agreed that we would kidnap a Muggle criminal, preferably one who was unrepentant and vicious, and use them as a human sacrifice to keep Astoria alive. Nobody was happy with the notion, but it was important to have plans in place just in case we failed to find a more suitable solution.

Daphne nodded slightly, not wholly convinced by my words. I couldn't blame her.

"Harry," said Blaise, peering over the top of a letter. "My mother sends her regards."

I nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. In light of the fact we shared the same enemy, Lady Zabini had offered her cooperation. She had also kissed me on the cheek before we left.

"She also mentioned that seeing your eyes 'burn with lust' when you were alone together rather pleased her. She's 'still got it', apparently," Blaise said mildly.

My cheeks felt warm all of a sudden. The others were grinning at me, even Daphne.

"It was the incense," I mumbled.

Thankfully, I was rescued from my pathetic crush by an ordinary barn owl alighting on my plate. Grimacing at the lack of hygiene, I untied a curled note from its leg and gave it some skinned sausage for its trouble.

 _Harry,_

 _Can we meet?_

 _Hermione_

I scrunched up the note and burned it between my fingers with a little wandless magic. Just because I relied heavily on my mind didn't mean I ignored my magical talents. If anything, the two complemented each other well.

The others began finishing up their meals. "Stay," I said, wiping my mouth with a napkin. "Just a little thing I have to take care of." I waggled a finger at them. "Daphne's in charge. No roughhousing."

Daphne gave the others a smug look as they stuck their tongues out at me. I loved them.

As I expected, Hermione noticed me receive her note, and it didn't take her long to catch up to me as I wandered slowly away from the Great Hall. Correctly interpreting my body language at all put her leagues ahead of her fellow Gryffindors.

"I must say, I had hoped for a little more professionalism," Hermione said haughtily, falling into step beside me.

I hummed noncommittedly. After Krum's deference and my group's obedience, it was somewhat refreshing to find that at least one Hogwarts student wasn't afraid to give me attitude. Besides my brother, of course.

"I trust we can begin meeting regularly?" she pressed. "Because if we're just going to have a random meetup whenever you feel like it, I'm not going to make any progress at all."

Yes, gone was the girl who stuttered at the realisation of my psychic might.

"I was a little busy," I replied with a smile. "But provided nothing serious comes up, yes, we can meet regularly. Say, once a week?"

Hermione nodded, mollified. "After breakfast on Saturdays, like today."

"As you wish." We walked a little further in silence before I forced myself to ask, "How is Jim doing?"

"Couldn't you ask him yourself?" Hermione said teasingly.

"I'm just making small talk. Is he handling the Triwizard Tournament stuff well?"

"He seems resigned to his fate. Still insists he didn't put his name in, though."

I thought back to my observations on Hallowe'en. Professor Moody was extremely suspicious, but I hadn't had time to really look into him in light of Astoria's brush with mortality. For his part, the professor seemed content to treat me the same as always.

"Well, he's telling the truth," I said. "It's certainly a trap."

"What makes you say that?"

I didn't trust Hermione enough yet to get into details. "Just a hunch. So, how do you want to do this?"

"Why don't you start by inspecting my functions?" she suggested. "That'll give you an understanding for my Occlumency framework, as well as any vulnerabilities in each module."

We found a secluded area behind a false tapestry, which Hermione had scouted in advance. There were two padded mats on the floor, and the air was still and warm. We sat opposite each other, and after a moment's hesitation, Hermione lowered her defences and allowed me to peer into her head.

The last time we met, she had told me that she was nearly ready for a third Occlumency function. I could tell by the stability of her framework that she had been telling the truth. She was further along than any of my friends. Despite my best efforts teaching them, it really took a certain kind of mind to excel in the Mind Arts.

My mind interpreted hers in the form of a street map, or perhaps a ward matrix. I saw the straight, disciplined lines that made up the foundation of her Occlumency like soldered wires, or magical channels. Every time she practiced her exercises, those lines grew stronger, more distinct. After four years of practice, they were quite robust.

I could see her two existing functions, Protection and Thought, like twin grey office buildings in the dark expanse of her mind. They were a little rundown, likely bought second-hand, but were serviceable nonetheless. Beside them, an empty lot waited for her next function, my gift to her if all went well. I withdrew my gaze and returned my focus to the real world.

"Quite impressive, Hermione," I said appreciatively. "You've come very far on your own."

"Thank you. I hope to go even further with your guidance," she replied politely.

"Do you understand how the pathways between synapses work when we learn something new?"

Hermione blinked. "Not entirely, no."

I put my fingers together under my chin. "It's a bit like walking through a forest with a lot of undergrowth. The first time is difficult and slow, and if you keep trying different directions, it always will be. But if you walk the same path again and again, you'll eventually create a trail that makes it easier. That's what practice is. It's how people learn to juggle, to cast spells wandlessly, and even how to walk when we're children. It's also a key tenet of Occlumency. The strength of your mental framework is analogous to the trail – the more you practice your exercises, the more well-defined the trail becomes."

"The only problem is, if I've been doing something wrong for years, it makes it that much harder to stop," Hermione finished with a sigh.

I smiled. "Pretty much. But don't worry. Your current paths aren't far wrong. It shouldn't take too much adjustment to set you straight. Rather than beating a whole new path through the bush, I'm simply going to get you to walk on the left side of the path instead of the right. Understand?"

Hermione nodded.

"Good. Then let's begin."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **There are no 'filler' scenes in this story - that was a promise I made to myself at the start. Everything should be important, and the details should matter.**

 **Speaking of which, what are some suspicious details you've noticed?**

 **Please review if you're enjoying the story!**


	5. Downpour

**Chapter 5: Downpour**

 **24 November 1994**

 **Morning of the First Task**

A peal of thunder brought momentary silence during breakfast. Heads turned towards the enchanted ceiling, where menacing black thunderheads gathered. Conversation resumed quickly, but never reached the same volume. There was something about the slow curling of storm clouds that plucked at the cords of instinct buried inside every human, urging us to speak softly lest we be overheard by a passing predator.

Even I felt it. Maybe it was the way the clouds reminded me of my experience getting the voidrope fibres flushed out of my lungs.

I suppressed a shudder as I stopped by the Gryffindor table. Jim looked up from his scrambled eggs, his face stuck in a rictus of calm. I knew the look well. It was the face of a person trying not to show any weakness.

"Good luck today, Jim," I said.

Jim nodded. "Thanks, Harry."

I left. There was no sense prolonging the awkward encounter. We were at a peaceful point in our relationship and I felt no desire to throw that away. There's nothing on earth more annoying than a Jim scorned.

I sat next to Daphne at my house table. It seemed we'd reached some form of unspoken agreement since our trials at the Zabini household.

"What _is_ the task?" she asked quietly, pulling herself out of one of her frequent reveries.

I was more than happy to provide a distraction from what were likely some very dark thoughts.

"Dragons," I said. "They have one for each champion. The task is to retrieve an object from the dragon's nest."

"What object?"

"A golden egg."

Daphne nodded. I could tell her heart wasn't really in the conversation, so I let it die.

It was disheartening, seeing my group reduced by two members. I received daily letters from Tracey and Theo as they recovered at St Mungo's, but it wasn't the same as having them near. On the plus side, Astoria had bounced back admirably, though she had no memory of what had happened at Lady Zabini's house. I estimated we had at least another month before the pressure reached the same point.

What were we going to do? The option of transferring the psy-vortex remained open to us, but I wasn't completely sure how to do it. Not to mention, it would require a human sacrifice. Could I really do that? I flirted with the darker side of things and talked a hard game, but even I didn't know how much was bluster.

The sky continued to growl.

* * *

The First Task was set to begin an hour before noon. They moved it forward out of valid concerns for the weather.

Outside, the clouds were so thick it was almost as dark as night. Students moved across the grounds in little black-robed clusters at a pace more fitting for a funeral march than the most exciting school event of the year. In a sad way, I was glad Theo wasn't present, since he would be most affected by the general uneasiness that hung in the air.

I initially considered blaming myself for the sorry state of affairs, but that would be foolish. Crouch and his psy-vortex were the true culprits.

Plus, not even the Unspeakables could pin this on me, right?

The weather was not natural. The twisting, chain-like system of storm clouds advancing over the castle was the result of the partial activation of the psy-vortex within Astoria. Lady Zabini's house was in Wales, and for weeks the region had been plagued by unpredictable weather due to the effect the psychic forces had on atmospheric pressure.

After a period of meteorological uncertainty, the various low-pressure systems had coalesced into a single, imposing storm front that had already ravaged most of England and part of Ireland. This was a rare but not undocumented phenomenon, and I wasn't too concerned. Nature would equalise and dispel the excess energy in its own way, which, from a human perspective, meant we were going to get very wet.

My friends and I were sitting in the stands around the dragon arena when I felt a little _pop_.

"Cloudburst," I warned, flicking my wand over my group. Moments later, a torrent of rain so heavy that it nearly threw some of the smaller students to the floor fell upon us. We were spared by my spell, but now we saw everything through a warped shield of running water.

"Fantastic," said Blaise. He drew his own wand and supplemented my spell with a Warming Charm.

We sat in a miserable clump for twenty minutes before the burst subsided. In that time, the rest of the student body managed to get their own wet-weather protection in place. A few brave Muggleborn first-years had nothing but umbrellas and stiff upper lips, God bless them.

The clouds didn't abate in the slightest. If one were inclined to describe the weather in the same terms one might describe lovemaking, which one was prone to do when bored and tired of waiting for this fucking show to start already, one might say that we had only felt the first, tender caress of the storm brewing above us. No, less than foreplay, the cloudburst was practically a wink at the bar from what I could sense.

I pondered why my thoughts had taken such an adolescent turn, but I couldn't concentrate due to Daphne's shoulder pressing against mine. I briefly considered putting my arm around her before deciding that would be presumptuous and unnecessary due to the Warming Charm. Also, I wanted to keep my wand arm free. I certainly wasn't nervous, if that's what you're implying.

Ludo Bagman finally emerged from the champion's pavilion and announced the order of play for the day. My brother had chosen poorly, and would be competing against the final dragon, the Hungarian Horntail.

"Anyone know anything about Horntails?" I asked my friends.

"They're big and angry," Draco said sullenly, eyeing the whole arrangement with disdain.

"Thanks."

The judges consisted of the headmasters of each school, Bagman, and Barty Crouch Senior's replacement, a sour-looking man named Brayden Cook.

Cedric Diggory, Hogwarts' original champion, was up first. The wind had intensified during the initial announcements, and now we could barely hear Bagman announce Cedric's entrance.

The Hufflepuff boy finished his bout with a golden egg tucked under his arm and his eyebrows burned off. I clapped politely. Facing a dragon deserved at least that.

Next was Fleur Delacour, who was hampered by an enormous clap of thunder that erupted from the sky moments after she began to cast her sleeping enchantment upon the dragon. The beast awoke with an angry start and nearly fried the quarter-Veela where she stood. I saw the skill beneath the beauty in her reaction: a dual mirage and shield that took the brunt of the fire while leading the dragon's aim in a different direction. Her second attempt was much more effective, though there were a few tense moments as she picked her way through the sleeping dragon's nest.

Krum came out strong with a Conjunctivitis Curse. His aim was unerring as the yellow-brown spell splashed across the Chinese Fireball's eyes. I overheard Greg mutter a joke to Crabbe about the difficulty of hitting Chinese eyes, and despite my disapproval I had to bite my lip to keep from chuckling.

The dragon stumbled around and crushed its own eggs in a panic while Krum slipped the golden egg into his robes and jogged to safety.

"Finally," I said, as the Horntail was brought out.

Daphne blew a stray strand of hair out of her face. "He's just going to use his power to knock the dragon out or something," she said.

"The sooner the better," Draco muttered over the breeze. "I want to be back inside before those clouds break."

Torches had been lit around the arena to combat the forced dusk. It could have been mid-evening and I wouldn't have been surprised.

"Wait, do we hate Potter or do we want him to win?" Pansy asked drowsily. She hugged Draco's arm like it was her own personal heater.

I exhaled. "We want him to win, or at least lose in a non-lethal and humorous way. We don't hate him."

The cannon fired, and Jim strode out of the tent with his wand drawn. The Horntail roared immediately. It was loud enough to be heard clearly over the wind. Compared to its predecessors, the monster was especially vicious, snapping and snarling at Jim well before he came near its nest.

Despite myself, my heartbeat sped up. Logically, I knew there was no chance Dumbledore would allow Jim to get himself killed. But logic and family don't always go hand in hand.

Suddenly, the torches around the arena went out. In their absence, the Horntail was transformed into a shifting, malevolent silhouette, its spines and wings bulging in the poor light. A serpentine neck curled languidly towards Jim without making a sound. The flash of a distant lightning strike glinted off its long, jagged teeth as it lunged forwards and bit Jim in half.

The crowd screamed. If I hadn't sensed Jim's presence move away from his initial position, I would have joined them. The dragon hacked and coughed, having bit down on a clay statue hewn roughly in the shape of Jim. During the instant of acclimation after extinguishing the torches, Jim had constructed his doppelganger and Disillusioned himself.

"Won't the dragon still smell him?" Daphne whispered in my ear.

I shook my head. "With this wind, I doubt it can smell anything that's not right in front of it."

Honestly, I was impressed. The last thing I expected from Jim was subtlety. Then again, he _had_ played me for a fool by getting me to explain Occlumency to him when Hermione had already done so. Maybe I was just so used to underestimating my brother that I failed to notice he was growing up.

The golden egg rose from the nest and bobbed its way back to the champion's pavilion.

"He's forgotten to Disillusion the egg," Draco said flatly.

"Yes, he has," I replied.

The Horntail noticed that detail too. A swipe of its claws sent the egg, and the camouflaged Jim, flying to the edge of the arena. I sat up reflexively as the crowd _ooh_ 'd.

"Lumos!" roared Jim. A globe of light blazed to life, banishing the gloom. The dragon recoiled as the glare assaulted its darkness-adjusted eyes. By the time the great lizard recovered, Jim was gone – and so was the egg.

Cheers rose from the spectators. I smiled as I clapped. My brother knew how to put on a show.

The Horntail was sedated and led away by the dragon handlers, and the crowd settled in to wait for the final verdict. Jim revealed himself at last, clutching a slice on his arm from the dragon's claws. Madam Pomfrey quickly ushered him into the champion's pavilion to great applause.

As we waited, the weather took things up a few notches from unpleasant to almost unbearable. The midday darkness was bad enough, but the wind had become truly horrendous, and the temperature had dropped considerably over the past half hour. I was debating skipping the verdict and simply leaving, when I saw it.

"Oh… my… God," I breathed. The others followed my gaze, and soon their expressions of awe matched my own.

A grey, heaving funnel descended from the sky and touched down in the Forbidden Forest, between the arena and the castle. The tornado stroked the earth like the gnarled finger of God, scraping a path of destruction through the forest. It dwarfed Hogwarts like a giant beside a child. Ancient trees were ripped whole from the ground to become little more than debris as they swirled around the coiling pillar of wind. The Forbidden Forest, a symbol of Hogwarts as old and immutable as the school itself, already bore a scar that would take a hundred years to heal.

It was perhaps the most terrifying and incredible thing I had ever seen.

"Harry, what do we do?" Daphne yelled in my ear. The wind had reduced the entire world to an endless rush. The spectators were panicking, understandably, though I couldn't hear the shrieks that were surely sounding off.

"Do?" I laughed, breathless as the wind filled my throat. "There's nothing to be done! Dumbledore himself would be pissing into the wind for all the power he could bring against _that!_ "

+Quite.+

My laughter froze. There was a voice in my head, and it wasn't mine.

+Do not be alarmed, Mr Potter. Your Protection function is fully operational. However, I would like your assistance in evacuating your fellow students from the stands in case the tornado comes any closer.+

The Headmaster's calm, aged voice sobered me up quickly. Highly accomplished Mind Arts users could send each other messages mentally, though since we were so rare, the ability was mainly used for one-sided conversations with friends. This was the first time somebody else had spoken to me using this ability.

I looked up at Professor Dumbledore in his position at the judges' table. The man was utterly unruffled. Literally, not even his beard was reacting to the wind. His blue eyes met mine with a little tingle that told me he was actively using the Mind Arts.

+What do you require of me, sir?+ I replied politely. Only a fool would do otherwise.

+I'd prefer not to let my mind be occupied by anything less than critical at the moment,+ he said briskly, or as briskly as you can speak when communication is as fast as thought. +I want you to gently direct the students to disembark the stands in a safe and orderly manner, and assemble according to yeargroup on the grass behind the arena, away from the tornado.+

+Less than critical?+ I repeated. +Is there some greater danger present that I am unaware of?+

+Let us say instead that I think the appearance of a tornado is distracting enough to tempt all sorts of mischief-makers into playing their cards.+

My eyes slid to Professor Moody, who sat among his fellow teachers. He was still watching the champion's pavilion.

+Yes,+ the Headmaster confirmed, to my surprise. He must have sensed my reaction, because the next thing he sent was, +Do you really believe I would blindly trust a man who wears a voidrope noose at all times?+

+I didn't think you were aware of it, sir,+ I replied, feeling stupid even as I sent it.

+Hopefully he believes the same. Now, Mr Potter, the evacuation if you please?+

I broke eye contact and unveiled my psychic senses. With the Headmaster's approval, I felt much more comfortable about it. Immediately, I was assaulted by the fear and panic of the mob around me. I was reminded forcibly of the Disaster at the World Cup.

Calming a mass of people was no easy feat. Every mind was unique, and thus presented unique challenges when trying to influence them. A blanket order, like when I mind-yelled 'STOP' at Lady Zabini's house, could have all sorts of unintended effects. A student with a heart condition could even die from something as reckless as that.

Instead, I let my mind brush over those present in a distracting wave of pressure against their temples. People unconsciously turned to look at me.

"Calmly," I said. I used the Amplifying Charm so that my voice sounded as though it was right beside them. "Please evacuate the stands in an orderly fashion, lower levels first, and gather in the open area behind the arena. Watch out for the younger students."

In their time of panic, simple, clear instructions were what they needed to hear. Almost immediately, students and visitors gathered themselves and filed out of their rows. I remained with my friends when our turn came, and by the time we joined our classmates out back, the teachers had taken control and organised us into ranks.

Bagman's voice shouted over the wind from somewhere. "That's a ten, a ten, a nine, a ten, and a four for Potter! Right, let's get the heck out of here!"

Jim reappeared, escorted by Madam Pomfrey and looking quite harried. I felt for him. He'd thought the most dangerous thing to happen to him today would be a dragon.

Aides and bodyguards stirred nervously around the tournament officials. Rowdy students and angry parents, they could deal with. An act of God was another matter.

Brayden Cook, Crouch Senior's replacement as the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was fingering a broken umbrella handle that was clearly an emergency Portkey. The only reason he hadn't left was likely because abandoning schoolchildren to their fate wouldn't look good in tomorrow's _Prophet._ He had to wait at least until someone started screaming, 'we're all going to die' before it would be appropriate.

The thunderheads above bowed, bent, and broke. A deluge the likes of which I had never experienced outside of my own imagination poured forth as though we were inside a rupturing bubble at the bottom of the ocean. I kept my friends dry again, and the teachers saw to the rest of the student body. As our rain-repellent shields merged, it really did look like we were inside a large bubble of air.

Through the distorted screen of water, the tornado became even more monstrous. Black tendrils lashed out recklessly, and the clouds bubbled and swayed along with the twister.

Lady Luck favoured us by sending the howling terror northwards. She did not smile so kindly on the castle. Even I winced as the tornado tore into the magically-reinforced bricks. A thousand years they may have lasted, but in a thousand years I wagered there had never been a storm like this in the Scottish Highlands.

Tiles were ripped from the rooftops and towers in their thousands, while more recent additions like the boathouse and greenhouses were obliterated entirely. The core structure held, but windows were smashed and battlements caved in from the sheer force of the wind.

After an agonising twenty minutes during which we could do nothing but sombrely watch our school take the worst beating of its life, the tornado passed beyond brick and mortar and returned to thrashing its way through trees and boulders instead. Heavy, soaking rain clouds remained behind, but the epicentre of the tempest had moved on. Forty-five minutes later, all that was left was rain and wreckage. The tornado dissipated before our eyes, and the teachers finally led us back to the castle.

Hogwarts, battered and bruised, welcomed us home.

Due to the extensive damage to the grounds and outer buildings, the decision was made to have every student sleep in the Great Hall, which was one of the more robust parts of the castle. The students acquiesced with very little grumbling, even among the Slytherins. I for one was glad I wouldn't be in the dungeons after all that ruckus. I didn't want to wake up and find the place had flooded, or the roof fallen in.

The house tables were replaced by rows and rows of sleeping bags beneath the slowly-clearing enchanted reflection of the sky.

Sleeping in one group afforded a rare treat, as Daphne and I were able to partake in a thrilling game of footsie right under the teacher's noses. Given the gravity of all that had happened recently, I was glad she hadn't withdrawn completely. We held hands, played with each other's fingers, and generally behaved like four-year-olds.

Daphne drifted off to sleep first. I was left alone, lying on my back, staring at the ceiling. The soft, sleepy noises of hundreds of students filled the air. The occasional fart caused a ripple of giggles. Sometime after midnight, everyone had settled down.

I found myself concerned for Jim's welfare. I hadn't gotten to congratulate him after his bout with the dragon. The wound he'd taken also deserved appropriate familial sympathy.

Cautiously, I raised my head and scouted the hall. Most of the teachers had gone to bed themselves, and the Headmaster was nowhere to be seen. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall had the night shift, it seemed, and they were currently patrolling the other end of the hall.

One quick Disillusionment Charm later, and I was creeping out of the hall towards the Hospital Wing.

* * *

"Something is happening," Karkaroff said emphatically. He clutched at Snape's forearm. "You must have felt yours stirring as well. They know his return is near!"

Snape was as stoic as ever, shaking off Karkaroff's grip with a contemptuous sneer. "What I have felt is irrelevant. When and if certain events occur, I will react accordingly. I do not fear being called to account. Do you?"

Karkaroff scowled as Snape strode away, his feet crunching on the broken glass scattered through the outer corridors. He could never tell when Snape was bluffing.

"Wait," said Karkaroff. Snape paused mid-step and glanced over his shoulder.

"If you truly don't fear being _called to account_ ," said Karkaroff, glancing up and down the empty corridor. "Then say his name."

Snape's sharp eyes glared down at him. "Why would I do something so foolish?"

"If you still hold his favour, it shouldn't be a problem, should it?" Karkaroff smirked.

Snape held his gaze for a long moment. Then he smiled. Karkaroff wilted at the sight.

"Very well," Snape murmured. "The name of the Dark Lord is –"

Karkaroff watched Snape's mouth move, forming the three dread-syllables that had ruined his life and left him permanently corrupted. Three separate sounds that could kill a man if spoken in the wrong place at the wrong time. Karkaroff felt his ears prickle as they began to bleed, and realised he had bitten right through his tongue.

Snape was completely unruffled, his sallow face etched with mirth. "It seems I still hold his favour," he said softly. "Can you say the same?"

Karkaroff pushed past Snape and staggered towards the main entrance, swallowing his own blood to keep it from spilling down his front. He could hardly believe it. There had been whispers among the others that Snape was no longer loyal, that he had made the suicidal decision to turn against the Dark Lord, despite being forever bound to him through his Mark.

But to say the name without so much as a shiver… Did the Dark Lord truly favour Snape so greatly?

Or… had Snape found a way to escape his clutches? Karkaroff hadn't seen his Mark, after all…

 _Is it even possible?_

Karkaroff rounded a corner into the Entrance Hall and nearly slammed head-on into Professor Moody. The Defence teacher's twisted face and beady eyes scanned Karkaroff with a little too much understanding. The Durmstrang headmaster straightened so he could look down on Moody, though he dared not open his mouth. The chunk of tongue he'd bitten off now floated in a pool of blood behind his lips. He felt nauseous, and the pain was sharp and unrelenting, but he couldn't afford to show weakness.

"What's the matter, Karkaroff?" Moody whispered. The glint of madness in his eyes seemed strangely familiar. "Bat got your tongue?"

Unable to speak, Karkaroff could only glare derisively. Moody cackled.

"I couldn't help but notice you heading off for a private chat with our beloved Potions professor," Moody went on. "Why don't we have a chat of our own?" He gestured to the front doors. "Unless you have any objections?"

Trapped, and very aware he wouldn't be able to keep up with Moody in a duel when he couldn't even speak, Karkaroff had little choice but to mutely follow the Defence professor into the grounds.

It was late now, and the lights from the castle's windows only penetrated so far into the darkness. Halfway to the forest, they were enveloped in blackness save for the light of the moon. A light rain fell from the sky, pattering against the sodden ground. The bulk of the storm had moved on, spending its rage elsewhere.

With every step, Karkaroff struggled not to retch. He needed a trained Healer to fix his tongue. Blood poured freely from his lips, having overflowed minutes into their journey. The pitter-patter of liquid splattering into the undergrowth punctuated the chilly silence.

They reached the forest, much of which was a maze of splintered trees and unearthed roots, and kept going. Karkaroff expected Moody to attack him at any moment, but he just kept walking, facing forward, completely unconcerned that Karkaroff was right behind him.

 _My belt knife,_ thought Karkaroff. _Wizard or not, a knife through the spine is a knife through the spine._

"You think it would be that easy, do you?" said Moody conversationally.

Karkaroff shivered, and it had nothing to do with the evening breeze. He'd never learned Occlumency, instead relying on his Mark to protect him from intrusion. But if Moody was able to pierce it… how was that possible?

"Here we are," Moody announced, stepping across the ward line. Karkaroff followed with a growing sense of desperation. Running would be pointless, but what else could he do? He wouldn't last long against Moody in an ordinary fight, let alone one where he was at a handicap.

"Oh, I don't know about that," Moody said jovially. "Alastor's not as quick as he was in his heyday."

Karkaroff stared at the madman. Had he truly cracked? Why would Dumbledore let him teach if he was so far gone as to speak in third person?

Moody threw back his head and laughed. "You're a bit slow to catch on, aren't you Igor?" He pulled a vial from his pocket and downed the contents. In moments, Moody's face began to deform and roil as the Polyjuice was neutralised.

Karkaroff seized the opportunity and drew his wand – only for it to go flying into the bushes in a flash of red light. The headmaster felt a sinking feeling. Of course there were others present.

Moody's shuddering ceased, and in his place stood a dead man. A blade of moonlight cut across Barty Crouch Junior's freckled face, making his insane grin all the more frightening.

"You're dead," Karkaroff coughed, slopping blood down his front.

"Not hardly," giggled Crouch.

Karkaroff looked around, sensing the presence of at least a dozen others, but unable to spot them. "Death Eaters? M-My comrades?" he gurgled.

"Wrong on both counts, I'm afraid," said Crouch. "Just some hired help I picked up from Eastern Europe. Very loyal, these ones, as long as you can pay." Crouch folded his arms and let his smile fade. "Now, what were you talking to Severus about?"

"Nothing, I swear – just reminiscing on the old days."

Crouch rolled his eyes. "Right, because you're both such sentimental fellows." Crouch tapped his forearm. "I _felt_ someone say the Dark Lord's name inside the castle. You can bet Dumbledore felt it too. I'll ask again – which of you spoke the name?"

"Severus," Karkaroff whimpered. "He angered me, and I wanted to test his loyalty."

" _That's_ why? Of all the reasons…" Crouch trailed off, shaking his head angrily. "Your little game of egos forced me to finish my business in the castle a little sooner than I would have liked. It was fortunate I got you out of there when I did, considering Dumbledore is probably on high alert right now."

"You… are trying to help me?"

Crouch laughed. "No, I just wanted to kill you before I left. Nothing more annoying than an unpunished traitor, after all."

Karkaroff trembled. The pain of his ruined tongue was suddenly the last thing on his mind. "But why speak to me if you're just going to kill me? I'm as loyal as I've ever been!"

"I believe you," Crouch said dryly. "And I wanted to find out if Severus said the name. I'm surprised he was able to, if I'm honest. But don't worry – I'll solve that mystery on my own." He pulled out a little vial that glinted red in the moonlight. "Think of this as a favour, Igor. You wouldn't want to be around when the Dark Lord returns."

With a cry of fear, Karkaroff wrenched himself out of his paralysis and ran, ducking and weaving, trying to put cover between himself and –

A Killing Curse took him in the back.

* * *

"Everyone's in the Great Hall, but of course you insist on a private room," I said mockingly.

Jim sat up in his hospital bed and grinned at me. His wild hair had been slicked down by rain and ended up drying in a Sirius-esque fashion. Madam Pomfrey was absent, which meant it was just the two of us in the Hospital Wing. When I entered, it looked as though Jim was having trouble sleeping as well.

"Well, I _am_ a champion," Jim said with a smirk.

"How's the arm?" I nodded at his bandages.

Jim shrugged casually, but couldn't hide the wince. "It'll be fine. Madam Pomfrey even checked to make sure there was no poison on the dragon's claws."

"It looked brutal."

"It _felt_ brutal."

We grimaced in mutual appreciation of the brutality.

"What was up with that storm?" Jim asked a moment later. He straightened his circular, wire-frame glasses. "I've never seen anything like it."

"Me neither." I didn't feel like explaining that I knew exactly what was up with that storm. Honestly, for just a partial activation, the consequences seemed extreme. Then again, that 'just' partial activation had involved a heated psychic battle at the same time. I made a note to check whether there had been any strange storms back when Lady Zabini's family was killed. Most likely it was just a freak occurrence caused by a number of competing factors. No wizard on earth could manifest a storm like that intentionally.

After a few more minutes of chatting, I left Jim feeling much better than I had when I arrived. Jim, as well, began to doze almost before I was out the door. Adoring fans were one thing, but there were some things only family could do.

My timing, as always, was impeccable. Madam Pomfrey was on her way back to the Hospital Wing and would, in fact, pass right by me as I stood there, Disillusioned. In the dim light, her expression was strangely blank. Surreptitiously, I positioned myself such that Madam Pomfrey would brush against me for a split second. I caught her surface thoughts. What I heard startled me.

 _HELP ME POTTER_

I spun and put a stunner into Madam Pomfrey's back. She toppled bonelessly to the floor without so much as a gasp.

My Patronus Charm shot down the hall a second later, heading for the headmaster.

A _crack_ sounded behind me, and I turned to find Professor Dumbledore with his wand drawn.

"I think Madam Pomfrey has been placed under the Imperius Curse," I said without preamble.

The Headmaster swept past me and wordlessly revived the matron. He knelt and cradled her head as she came around. I stood anxiously beside them.

"Poppy?" Dumbledore said gently as she opened her eyes.

"Albus!" Madam Pomfrey seized the front of his robes, her face pale. "I took a vial of Jim's blood. I don't know why. There was a voice in my head saying it was to check for poisonous substances that might have been on the dragon's claws, but I could have used a diagnostic spell for that –"

"What happened to the vial?" Dumbledore cut in.

"I gave it to Miss Abbott – she's shown an interest in medical magic – under instructions to take it to Professor Moody's office." Pomfrey put a horrified hand over her mouth. "Albus, what have I done?"

"Nothing. Your will was compromised, and as such you cannot be blamed for your actions," Dumbledore assured her, standing up. "Gather the staff once you are well enough."

Without warning, Dumbledore clapped his hand on my shoulder and gripped hard as we Disapparated. The wards opened before us, speeding our passage. We arrived soundlessly this time, outside Professor Moody's office.

I kept my wand up and my senses open. I fired up my Protection and Thought functions in preparation. Dumbledore nodded slightly in approval, and for the first time, I felt the Headmaster's own mental facilities awaken.

Holy crap. For once, I wasn't the biggest fish in the pond. Was this how my friends felt all the time? It was intimidating.

Dumbledore turned the door and wall transparent. I didn't think it was possible to do something like that on a structure with wards as strong as Hogwarts. I guess being the Headmaster is about more than kicking off feasts.

A grisly sight awaited us. Professor Moody was strung up, spread-eagle, in the middle of his office. Bloody lacerations decorated his already scar-riddled, ageing body. A long beard reached his concave, emaciated stomach. Skin hung from his bony limbs like loose parchment.

Dumbledore opened the invisible door. Moody quivered as he registered our presence.

"Albus," he wheezed.

"Alastor. Who did this to you?" Dumbledore didn't enter the office and remained wary. I copied him.

"Crouch," spat Moody. "Barty Crouch Junior. Bastard's been impersonating me all year. He came back not long ago, did this to me. Took a broom and some stuff and left. Don't know why he didn't just kill me."

"Because he needed you alive so you would register in the wards," said Dumbledore.

I could actually _feel_ the headmaster's mind racing beside me.

"I knew he was alive, but I didn't know he was here," I said, cursing my secretive nature. Crouch had been _right there_ , every day, watching me. I'd gone to him for advice on voidrope, for God's sake. I felt sick.

Dumbledore's eyes snapped to mine. "Explain."

"Shouldn't we lock down the school perimeter?" I said urgently.

"I already have. If Crouch was using a broom, however, he is already long gone. In the interests of halting whatever nefarious plan he has in store for your brother's blood, _explain._ "

"The Unspeakables contact me sometimes." I ran a hand through my hair worriedly. "As payment for something I helped them with, I was informed that the information I gave them had revealed the fact that Crouch Junior was alive and free."

Dumbledore's face was composed, but I felt the irritation radiating off him. "Return to the Great Hall," he said shortly.

I obeyed. I also said nothing of my encounter with Crouch at the Zabini household.

* * *

 **25 November 1994**

 **The day after the First Task**

Morning brought a number of changes and announcements.

The Hogwarts Express had arrived during the night and would be taking us back to London immediately after breakfast. The school would be closed for at least a week while trained wizards inspected the castle and repaired the damage done by the storm. At the moment, it was deemed too risky to allow students to go on with their classes. Foreign students would be put up in local inns at the expense of the Ministry.

Professor Moody was absent from the Great Hall that morning. The news hadn't broken yet, and I suspected Dumbledore had a few choice words for the Unspeakables regarding Crouch's successful infiltration. The fact that Crouch had gotten away with a vial of Jim's blood weighed heavily on my mind. I wasn't as well-versed in the Dark Arts as Crouch, but even I could think of one or two nasty things that could be done with someone's blood. Fortunately, the more time passed, the less potent the blood became. When I saw Jim alive and well at breakfast, I knew the vial couldn't have been taken for a direct attack.

Then what was it for?

At the least, it confirmed that the mercenary who tailed Jim at Hogsmeade near the beginning of the year had been working for Crouch. Had it not been for my intervention, he would have received a blood sample far sooner, and without anyone knowing he had been involved.

If only I had stopped him a second time. Once again, the feeling that I was out of step with current events overtook me. I was powerful, but I was just a student. All I did was react to each new disaster while Crouch took his merry time putting his plans together. I had nothing to go on.

* * *

The attack came as soon as we crossed the border into England. Considering the rushed nature of the trip, I should have expected there to be holes in the security plan. Or, just as nobody had expected a tornado to strike Hogwarts, just so had nobody expected a band of mercenaries to attack the Hogwarts Express the day after.

I sensed the Mass Decay field as it settled around the train and immediately rose the alarm. The oldest and most experienced people on the train were seventh-years. The only people with any authority were Prefects. The conductor and trolley lady were as helpless as Muggles in this situation. Our lives were very much in our own hands.

Mass Decay fields were extraordinarily difficult to pull off, namely due to the high energy requirement needed for the initial casting. Even Dumbledore would balk at the idea of creating one himself.

So how had Crouch done it? I knew it was him, even though I couldn't sense his presence due to the field. I didn't have enough information to work with yet, which meant I would need to get creative.

The train squealed and rattled as it was forced to a halt. We had already braced ourselves, but the violence of our sudden stop was still enough to throw us against the wall of our compartment.

"What's going on?" asked Daphne, touching her bruised forehead.

I climbed to my feet and moved to the window. "We are within a Mass Decay field," I replied shortly. "We are cut off from the outside world, and any spells we attempt to cast will fall apart within moments of leaving our wands. In addition to that, within ten minutes, our bodies will break down into their component particles."

"What the _fuck?_ " exclaimed Pansy, clutching Draco's sleeve. "Is that even possible?"

"Yes. Very, very difficult, but possible."

Daphne shook her head, her midnight-black hair swaying. "I'm going to check on Astoria." She left without another word.

I peered outside cautiously. We were on a strict time limit and there wasn't any time for second-guesses. I needed to act as quickly as possible.

We had stopped on a stretch of track bordered by grassy hills. I could easily make out the edge of the Mass Decay field, since it killed the grass immediately surrounding the train. Beyond the edge of the brown, deteriorating ground, ten men stood motionless. I was willing to bet another ten were on the opposite side of the train. They wore black, form-fitting suits with pouches along their chests, like Muggle special forces uniforms. Their faces were concealed behind balaclavas with grinning skulls on them. When one of them turned to speak to his comrade, the skull's jaw moved. They were enchanted disguises, perhaps even the signature of this particular mercenary band.

There was no doubt in my mind that these men were working with Crouch. If I got a chance to inspect them later, if we survived this, I knew I would find ransom tattoos on their backs, just like the one that came for Jim.

"But why?" I whispered. "Why would Crouch do this now? He got the blood. He abandoned his disguise and left. Did it not work?"

Daphne returned to our compartment, her sister in tow.

"Harry," she said, her voice tight.

I turned to find Astoria swaying on her feet, clutching her head. In moments, I was on my knees before her, holding her temples and delicately probing her mind.

"The field is affecting the psy-vortex," I said, keeping my voice calm for Astoria's sake. "It's going to activate well before the field kills us. We have maybe three minutes."

"What do we do?"

"I… I… We have to…," I stuttered. For a frozen moment, I felt the eyes of my friends on me. I saw them realise I had no idea what to do.

"Transplant the vortex into me," Daphne said into the silence.

My neck clicked from how quickly I shook my head. "Absolutely not."

"If we don't have a better plan, then –"

"It won't make any difference. We'll still be right here when the vortex goes off. Everyone on the train will die in two and a half minutes, and even if we miraculously survive, that still leaves less than ten minutes before the MD field destroys us."

"Can we contact Dumbledore? The Aurors?" asked Blaise.

"Any spells we cast will fall apart, I told you that. The field _reduces_ things. If it's flora, it decays and dies. If it's energy, like magic, then it dissipates like heat in a void."

"What if it's fauna?"

"Fauna can resist the effects due to the sealed nature of multi-cellular systems, but at around the five-minute mark, rapid organ failure will begin." I put my hands over my ears. "Now shut up for a second and let me think!"

The compartment door opened. I had my back to it. A mercenary in blacked-out fatigues scanned our faces in a split second, then raised a Muggle handgun and shot me in the back.

I collapsed forward into the window, falling to my knees. A searing hot piece of lead slammed into the back of my seventh rib on the right, cracking it. I held myself as still as I could to prevent the bullet from moving around and tearing up my insides.

My friends screamed and lunged out of their seats in unison at the moment of the shot. Daphne's wand was out first, but her Disarming Charm fizzled out barely a foot from her wand. Blaise and Draco used more harmful spells, but they too failed to make it all the way to the attacker.

Spells were useless inside the field, and he had evidently planned for that.

"Sit, or I shoot again," the man ordered calmly. The skull on his mask clicked its teeth together.

I sensed my friends' fury and knew they wouldn't obey, even if it killed them.

"Sit," I gasped. They looked at me. The conflict on their faces wrenched at my heart. They sat.

"Where is voidrope?" said the mercenary. His accent was Ukrainian.

"My trunk. Blaise, Draco, get it down."

They reluctantly obeyed. I remained on my knees against the window. Hot liquid poured down my back. The mercenary remained in the doorway, panning his pistol over us cautiously. The utter lack of empathy in his eyes was chilling.

Blaise and Draco lowered my trunk to the floor and stepped back.

"Open it," the man ordered.

"It needs my touch to open," I tried.

"Is that the truth? How about I kill girl," he waved the gun towards Daphne, "and then if your answer remains the same, I will know it is the truth."

"No…" I breathed, resting my forehead against the glass. "She can open it."

"Do it," he said.

Daphne slid to the floor and slowly unlocked my trunk. Inside, my clothes were folded neatly, and in a side pocket, there was a sealed plastic bag that contained the voidrope. She handed it to the mercenary and hunched her shoulders in fear when it looked as thought he was going to shoot her anyway.

"Any more than this?" he asked, inspecting the half-metre frayed length.

"No," I said honestly.

"I kill girl, check answer." The mercenary pointed the gun at Daphne and pulled the trigger.

She flinched…

…but the gun didn't go off.

The mercenary looked down at his pistol in surprise, and found it was covered in ice, as though it had been left overnight in a blizzard. The firing mechanism was jammed tight.

+Subdue him,+ I ordered.

I had left my body entirely and focused my mind on the weapon. The MD field would destroy me in moments if I remained out of my body for too long.

Blaise and Draco slammed the mercenary to the floor. He dropped the gun and went for a knife in his chest rig, but I descended on his mind before he could even grasp the handle.

His name was Vyacheslav Viktorovich. He was the leader of Team 2 for the Naire Partisans, a mercenary band that had been formed in secret during Grindelwald's reign half a century ago. The original members had been funded by Russian nobles to keep Grindelwald from advancing too far into their territory through targeted attacks on Grindelwald's lieutenants, and they had been rather successful. However, in the decades since the war ended, those very nobles had become fat and petty, and the original, heroic members of the band dwindled away due to age and disillusionment. Now, the Partisans had been reduced to fighting for gold against any opponent, regardless of ideology. They were well-trained, but their ranks were made up of jilted Muggleborns and other outcasts, a far cry from the brave sons of Russia that had once shared their name.

He had personally killed seventy-six people over his ten-year career.

What family he had left wouldn't miss him.

I slipped back into my body with a groan. Vyacheslav remained still, dazed from my intrusion. His Occlumency framework was only firm enough to support one function, Flow. It allowed him to intelligently tap into his muscle memory when on the job, keeping his heart rate down and his breathing measured, ensuring that he remained focused and that little things like his conscience wouldn't bother him at a critical moment.

I didn't need a function to do that.

"Help me over to him," I wheezed. Everything had happened so fast, I still hadn't recovered from having the air driven out of my lungs by the gunshot. "Bring Astoria close to me as well."

Blaise and Draco half-carried me to Vyacheslav and held me up. Pansy, of her own accord, pulled a shirt out of my trunk and began applying pressure to the wound on my back.

"Good girl," Draco murmured. Pansy's face was pale and tight, but she nodded back.

"I have a plan," I said. "Don't ask. Just do what I say. Pull out your pendants and place them on his chest. Put one around Astoria's neck." We had six in total, one each from Blaise, Daphne, Pansy, and Draco, and two spares in my trunk I had just in case my inner circle expanded. Tracey had hers at St Mungo's, and Theo, who was with her, never needed one due to his psychic sensitivity.

"Put one around my neck too," I added. Daphne gave me hers. "I'm going bodiless. We're out of time and I have no choice but to try something really fucking crazy. Keep my body alive while I'm gone. Without my mind inside it, that may prove challenging."

"We'll protect you," Blaise said firmly.

* * *

Vyacheslav left the train at a brisk walk. He held a sealed plastic bag in one hand. The students on board the train didn't dare try to follow him. Most of them had no idea how much danger they were in.

As he walked, several tiny, glinting objects fell to the grass behind him, evenly spaced across the distance between the train and the edge of the MD field.

Vyacheslav stepped beyond the field and felt its oppressive, corrosive influence vanish.

A man appeared out of thin air and approached Vyacheslav the moment he was clear.

"Did you get him?" Crouch demanded. His manic grin was gone, and without it his smile lines turned to ugly wrinkles. He may have been a boy when the Dark Lord came to power, but those days were far behind him, with many hard years in between.

"I shot him once in the back," Vyacheslav replied. "Then I retrieved objective and extracted it, as ordered."

"Give it to me," Crouch snapped.

Vyacheslav handed over the bag containing the voidrope sample.

Crouch's lips twisted. "Is this all there is?" He shook the bag for emphasis.

"Yes," Vyacheslav replied.

"Not enough, not enough," Crouch muttered angrily. "We're not dealing with a fucking poltergeist, you understand? We need as much voidrope as we can get."

"What are we dealing with, sir?" Vyacheslav ventured.

Crouch sneered at him and strode away. "You wouldn't understand it if I told you, Vyacheslav."

"Maybe I'm smarter than you think, sir," Vyacheslav replied with my voice.

The air became as thick as honey. Crouch turned just far enough to meet Vyacheslav's eyes – eyes that were as green as the Killing Curse he loved so much. The psy-vortex inside Vyacheslav surged to life as I withdrew my mind from his. On my way out, I shattered the lightning-bolt pendant hidden beneath Vyacheslav's shirt to ensure none of the psychic energy would bleed through.

My mind hopped from pendant to pendant in a trail leading back to the train. The MD field ate at my consciousness like a thousand angry ants, tearing into my head, trying to reduce my very thoughts the same way it reduced everything. I had never experienced anything more painful in my entire life.

The pendants flared to life for a moment as I took refuge in them, spitting brilliant blue corposant before detonating from the haste of my passage. The trail of tiny, ghostly explosions looked like footsteps across the dead grass.

The final gap was the largest, and I felt the MD field sizzle at the edges of my mind like acid. I was raw and hurting. My functions were worthless against a foe like this.

With an all-or-nothing surge of effort, I sent my disembodied mind through the window and back into my body. My blood felt thick and sticky, clinging to my veins like burning tar as my heart sluggishly tried to keep the flow moving. The pain of my physical and psychic wounds nearly overwhelmed me, but I retained enough strength to do one thing.

"GET DOWN!" I yelled.

The psy-vortex activated. Ironically, the Mass Decay field that had been put in place to kill us actually ended up saving our lives. I couldn't see much from my position on the floor of the compartment, but I saw snowflakes swirling outside the window. Lights flashed in the overcast sky like invisible lightning, and the ground shook as though it was about to split apart. A pressure wave shattered every window on the train, covering us with glass.

The field that contained us groaned as it tried to dissipate the parts of the psy-vortex that crossed its border. The energy was just too much. A sound like a bell tolling slammed through the train, making my diaphragm quiver. The field collapsed, clearing the way for at least a dozen Patronus as they zoomed away to get help.

My bruised mind was free to sense beyond the train once more.

Where ten mercenaries had stood guard, only frost-riddled corpses remained. There was no sign of the other ten, or of Crouch.

* * *

 **9 December 1994**

 **Little Hangleton Graveyard**

When students returned to school two weeks later (on a repaired and heavily defended Hogwarts Express), I was not among them.

Not just because of my injuries, mind you. I'm not that much of a sissy. Muggle weapons are deadly, make no mistake, but physical wounds can be treated quite handily by magical healers. Mentally speaking, it took a week of sleeping full nights before I felt normal again. When I thought about the slew of risks I had taken that day on the train, I felt queasy. Desperate times really do call for desperate measures, I suppose.

But the key reason I refused to return to school was because of what I had learned while inside Vyacheslav Viktorovich's mind. I had used his own memories and knowledge to make sure my act was as convincing as possible, and on my way out I had torn out all the recent memories I could carry in the hopes they might have something interesting.

They did.

First and foremost was the matter of Jim's missing blood vial. While Vyacheslav hadn't witnessed it being used firsthand, he had seen Crouch before and after. Before, Crouch had been almost delirious with excitement, playfully ordering them to guard the perimeter of a random graveyard. But after a great deal of shouting and dramatic, colourful splashes of light playing against the headstones, nothing more had come of the madman's behaviour. There was no revelation, no sudden increase in power or proclamation that he was now like a god. Crouch had simply rounded them up and told them they were going ahead with the train plan as soon as possible. He looked pissed off and confused, but the Partisans knew better than to ask questions.

Vyacheslav had glanced over his shoulder before they left, and caught a glimpse of what Crouch had been working on. In the centre of the graveyard, a cauldron steamed. There was nothing remarkable about it, so Vyacheslav had faced forward again. But he knew Crouch had used the vial by the simple fact that the madman no longer brandished it at every opportunity.

I paid a visit to that graveyard after a week of recovery. I took Uncle Padfoot with me, because I'm not stupid. We found it abandoned, as graveyards should be.

"Mind telling me what I'm watching out for?" Sirius said lightly, though his wand was drawn and his eyes were sharp.

"Anyone or anything at all," I replied.

"My God," he breathed. "Harry, we're surrounded!" His voice went flat. "By _dead people!_ "

"I mean any living people or monsters," I snapped, though inwardly I enjoyed his humour.

It was midday, by far the safest time to explore a graveyard according to the six-year-old inside me, and we were fortunate that none of the Muggles from the nearby village had decided today would be a good day for some mourning.

I found the cauldron right where Vyacheslav had last seen it – with some differences. Namely, it had exploded. We found shreds of cast iron embedded in gravestones up to fifty metres away. The focal point of the blast revealed some unusual clues. The grass hadn't been burned away, which meant the explosive force hadn't been incendiary like most cauldron explosions caused by poorly-brewed potions. But it also didn't mean the potion had been successful, because if Crouch wanted to blow himself up, there were far more convenient methods. That meant something had happened in the time after Crouch left that caused such a violent reaction.

"I can't make heads or tails of this," Sirius said plainly. The light breeze stirred his devil-may-care hairstyle. "Even if I knew what this was all about, I don't know if I could piece it together."

I winced. "I'll tell you everything… eventually."

"No, you won't," Sirius said calmly. "And I accept that. I'm just glad you considered bringing me as backup for once. After all the crazy things you've been caught up in this year, I don't think my wrinkled old heart can handle much more. At least this way I know you've got someone capable watching your back."

"My friends are very capable," I said defensively. "But… I'm sorry, nonetheless. I really didn't know things were going to get so out of control this year."

"I don't think anyone did. Crouch Junior, what a nutter." Sirius shook his head.

The news had finally broken about Crouch's status as alive and dangerous. The tragic story of his father and mother was also covered. Naturally, however, the papers didn't even know the half of it.

I knew from Vyacheslav's memories that Crouch Junior had coerced Daphne's father, Nathanael Greengrass, into paying for the Naire Partisans and smuggling them into the country. The psy-vortex inside Astoria was meant to ensure his loyalty no matter what, even though I doubted Crouch had ever intended to spare Astoria no matter how obedient Nathanael was.

Astoria was safe now, though she would never practice Occlumency again. The damage caused by the partial activation and my hasty transplant into Vyacheslav's mind would ensure she could never have a framework strong enough to hold a function. The girl didn't seem all that bothered by the fact, I was happy to hear. Daphne had reported that little Tori was back to her cheerful, rebellious ways.

"Huh," said Sirius.

I glanced at him. He stood near the centre of the blast area, tapping his chin.

"What's up?" I said, picking my way closer so as to not disturb the scene too much.

"It could be nothing… but do you see the way the shrapnel flies out in every direction? Practically a perfect circle."

I coughed. "Cauldrons are spherical. The shrapnel _should_ be arrayed in a circle."

Sirius gave me a pert look that told me he was actually being serious for once. "But not all of it is."

I blinked, and followed his finger as he pointed out a series of iron shards that were just slightly off from the pattern surrounding them. They led in a straight line towards the nearby forest. One slightly to the left of the line, one to the right, one to the left…

"Footsteps," said Sirius. I nodded slowly.

"Someone… checked on the cauldron after it exploded? Maybe a villager?"

"Look at the way the pieces have been turned," Sirius said intently, dropping into a squat. "Whoever it was, they walked _away_ from the site of the explosion. There's no sign of anyone walking _to_ it."

"How could…" I paused to let the thought form completely. "How can someone walk away from an explosion when they're standing at the source of it? The shrapnel pattern is perfect, there's no sign of any shields or protective measures."

"Maybe they were inside the cauldron?" Sirius suggested, scratching his cheek.

For some reason, I shivered.

* * *

"Kane," I said.

"Harry," said Kane.

We stood in the neutral location of Nando's, in London. I chose the spot because it amused me to make someone as serious as Kane meet me in such a mundane place, far from the dramatic corridors of Hogwarts and the brooding archives of the Department of Mysteries.

We sat at a table. I had already bought some chicken burgers and chips and pushed one burger over to Kane. He inspected it with reluctance before taking a bite. Immediately, he began to sweat.

"Too spicy?" I said mildly, grinning on the inside. I bit into my own burger and psychically neutralised the spices so that I wouldn't react to them. In all honesty, I almost never had spicy food and probably wouldn't be able to handle it at all. But this wasn't about being honest. It was about finding a little bit of humour after a horrid few months.

Kane put down the burger and discreetly waved his wand at his mouth to stop the burning. He scrubbed the sweat from his brow with a napkin and gave me a flat look. The whole time, his granite-like face never changed.

"I assume you have information you want to trade," he said.

I chewed and swallowed slowly, just to make it clear the spice wasn't even touching me.

"I think I know where Crouch has run off to," I said. Vyacheslav's memories had given me something else besides cauldron mysteries.

Kane nodded. "What do you want in exchange?"

Fun time was over. I put down my burger and wiped my mouth. "I want to lead the team that goes after him."

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **The first arc is pretty much over, and what a ride it was! Sorry for the wait!**

 **Please review if you're enjoying the story!**


	6. Deathmatch

**Chapter 6: Deathmatch**

 **10 December 1994**

 **St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries**

 **Lily Potter Ward**

 **Midday**

"When are you leaving?" asked Theo.

He sat on his hospital bed, hugging his knees. Despite the trauma he'd experienced at the Zabini household just over a month ago, his eyes were bright and focused. Since he'd been unconscious through most of the partial activation, the damage was mostly to his unconscious mind. Dark circles beneath his eyes and the occasional involuntary twitch in his facial muscles hinted at what he was dealing with each night.

"As soon as I'm done here," I replied. "I wanted to tell you both in person."

Tracey was curled up on the second bed. I sat in a chair next to her, holding her cold, clammy hand in my own. The poor girl trembled incessantly, and occasionally made noises like quiet little screams at the back of her throat. She had been awake through most of the partial activation, and so her conscious mind had taken the brunt of the psychic sandblasting. She'd had no functions to protect her, not even a stable Occlumency foundation to soften the blow. Her bright, cheerful mind, so unlike the rest of us gloomy Slytherins, had taken a beating that would stay with her forever.

Christ, I nearly teared up right then and there. Only the way Tracey gripped my hand like a lifeline kept me strong. She was the one suffering here, not me. I had to be whatever she needed me to be.

It wasn't all bad news. My friends and I had all visited one by one over the 'break' (if that's what you call it when a tornado messes up your school and then terrorists attack your train), since more than one or two people at a time put a terrible strain on Theo's mind. His sensitivity remained, but sensing too much at once was like using a cheese grater on a burn wound. Tracey's mind, without any psychic protections, would heal the same way anyone's would: slowly and steadily. They were both in awful shape, but the Mind Healers helped alleviate the worst of the symptoms, and there was a silver lining in the fact that when one of them felt fine, the other felt terrible.

Theo was alright while awake, so he could look after Tracey and help distract her from the pain. When Theo slept, his mind subconsciously sensed Tracey's calm slumber beside him, which soothed his own pain. I could sense the strong bonds of affection that had grown between them. Suffering had made them siblings.

Tracey licked her chapped lips. "Why didn't you tell us your mum had a ward named after her?" she whispered.

I handed her a glass of water with my free hand. "It never came up," I said with a little shrug. "She studied alongside some people at Hogwarts who grew up to be Mind Healers, and when she was killed, they wanted to honour her. I guess she made a lasting impression on them."

"That's nice." Tracey smiled weakly as she struggled to raise the glass to her lips. I hurriedly steadied her hand and held it there as she sipped.

"Hey, you got a new cupholder," Theo said with mock offence, flipping his lank dark hair out of his eyes. "What am I going to do for a job now?"

Tracey swallowed, dribbling a little down her chin, but she managed a tiny breathless chuckle. "You've still got your position as newsreader," she said. "Working two jobs was probably stressing you out anyway. I mean, look at you. You look like you haven't slept well in months."

Theo laughed, falling onto his back before sitting up again. "I read the paper for her," he explained to Harry. "Sometimes I add my own journalistic commentary."

I smiled. "I can imagine."

"He does voices and everything," Tracey giggled hoarsely, wiping her chin on the bedsheets. "You should hear his Fudge impression."

"Oh?" I raised my eyebrows at Theo.

"Gah," Theo pronounced, hiding his face. "Don't put me on the spot like that, Trace."

"But it's hilarious," she insisted.

A tiny prickle of cold manifested on my wrist, where a watch would sit. "My half-hour is up," I said, reluctantly letting go of Tracey's hand and getting to my feet. The humour faded instantly as my friends donned sombre expressions.

"Be careful, alright?" said Tracey.

"Come back," was all Theo said.

* * *

 **Two hours later**

 **Northern Russia**

 **International Task Force Staging Area**

Unspeakable Kane had taken my request to heart after we parted ways at Nando's yesterday. It was remarkable how quickly the ball picked up speed once it began rolling. Crouch had apparently angered more than a few people before his return to Britain, though few, if any, of those people had known his true identity. Now, with the revelation that he was on the loose with the remaining members of the Naire Partisans, Ministries across Eastern Europe were frothing at the mouth for the chance to finally put Crouch out of commission.

Within a day, the Unspeakables had levelled their considerable talent for cutting through bureaucracy at the International Confederation of Wizards. A task force had been put together overnight, just in case Crouch learned that his location was compromised. We had to act fast.

The staging area was fifty kilometres south of Crouch's suspected location. Snow blanketed the earth around the hastily-raised collection of tents that made up our operational command centre. We were nestled in the hollow between two white, sunken hills. The air was icy and bitter.

Naturally, every country that Crouch had pissed off wanted their own people to be involved, but I was in charge of choosing those who would accompany me, and I wasn't going to make those choices for political reasons. I needed people I could rely on to do their jobs, no matter what Crouch might throw at us.

I was disguised as an ordinary-looking Muggle man thanks to Crouch's remaining Polyjuice Potion found in his office. Obviously, it wouldn't do for people to know that a teenager was leading their task force.

A short, harried-looking man with a bulbous nose ran up to me as soon as I stepped into the camp. "They're just in here, sir," he said, gesturing to the pavilion at the centre of the staging area.

I nodded and followed him in. Immediately, conversations in progress ceased and all eyes turned my way. There were roughly fifteen people waiting for me around a long table littered with old maps. Chairs of rich velvet and satin sat unused at the edges of the pavilion. Textiles of burgundy red covered the floor and walls, with gold and silver embroidery on the finer pieces. The place breathed like a wealthy man's reading room.

"Unspeakable Graham," Kane said with a nod. He stood in the centre of the group. The rest milled about curiously, looking between us.

"Unspeakable Kane," I replied, returning his nod. My temporary identity had been chosen to honour Lady Zabini's late son Graham, who had been taken from the Unspeakables by Crouch only a few short months ago.

"Shall we begin the briefing?"

Instead of answering, I stepped up to the table. A single pulse from my mind swept away all irrelevant material, leaving behind a single map.

"It's an abandoned Muggle fishing town named Rybagrad," I said. Everyone gathered around to get a better look. "Crouch had it prepared as a bolthole in case he needed to retreat from Britain. It's where he marshalled the Naire Partisans and began his incursion into Britain. I don't know why he chose this place in particular, but I suspect he'll have a reason for it."

A blonde woman leaned on the table. "What's the local topography?" she asked. She was Ukrainian, like the mercenaries.

"The town is in a bay surrounded by high cliffs. There's a mountain on the northern side, but once inside the bay, the land is flat and even. The town is mostly old longhouses and large fishing sheds right on the water."

"Any locals?" asked the same woman.

"None on record," I said. "The town was abandoned almost a hundred years ago for unknown reasons. It's been sitting there in the ice and snow since then."

A surly-looking French wizard scratched his stubbled chin and eyed the map with disdain. "How are we getting in?" he said, his accent thick.

"From here, we'll take brooms to the coast, then fly close to the water until we curve into the bay. Hopefully we'll be able to hide in the town and assess the situation."

"We're flying fifty klicks?" the French wizard repeated. "Why not Apparate closer?"

"There seems to be an unusual form of… turbulence, in the area surrounding the town. Apparition won't be possible." The memories I had taken from Crouch's mercenary had warned me of this.

"Nobody can cast an Anti-Apparition Charm that big."

"That's why I said the unusual turbulence was at fault, not a charm," I said plainly. The wizard bristled, but held his tongue.

"Do we have any idea what kind of defences Crouch has in place?" the woman said.

I gave her an even look. "Only what could be put in place with two days, ten highly-trained mercenaries, and one very powerful wizard who learned the Dark Arts from the Dark Lord himself."

The silence that descended on the pavilion was grim.

"How many do you need?" asked Kane, unaffected.

"I'll take four people in with me," I replied.

"Only four?" said the French wizard.

"The fewer people, the less noticeable we'll be."

He glared at my obvious tone. "If they can't Apparate out of there, why don't we secure the perimeter and go in full-force?"

"Because that would be very noticeable. And we don't know why the turbulence is there. It may in fact be part of Crouch's defences. Keep in mind this is a man who is capable of constructing Mass Decay fields on short notice. A small, elite team is our best option." I held up a finger to stall any further remarks. "Every member of this expedition must be on the same page. We are not here to detain Crouch. We are not here to negotiate with or question him. We are here to kill him."

Silence reigned for a few seconds.

"Is this sanctioned by the ICW?" the blonde woman asked quietly.

"The ICW would never sanction killing anyone," I said. "But if people come crying to you about Crouch after he's dead, send them on to me. If you're feeling queasy, I can list some of his victims and the methods he used to kill them until your resolve strengthens."

She shook her head coolly. "That is not necessary. To clarify, if I am the one to take his life, I will not be prosecuted?"

I tilted my head curiously. "If you are, I'll personally serve as your defence lawyer. Free of charge."

I expected her to smirk at that, but she just nodded.

"Here are their dossiers," said Kane, passing me a sheaf of parchment.

In the end, after an hour of deliberation, I gathered with my chosen four outside the staging area. Auror-issue broomsticks were between our legs, faster and quieter than most commercial models, and highly restricted.

The blonde woman, who I now knew as Darya, stood at my side. She had hooded, apathetic blue eyes, a small nose, and the hint of a tattoo beneath the high collar of her body-hugging black uniform. A little golden cross hung from a fine chain around her neck.

The French man who had maintained an irate presence throughout the briefing had also made the cut. Noam was surly, dark-haired, and had a surprising career behind him. He had once been a member of the Naire Partisans, the very men we were about to confront. A French wizard in a Russian mercenary force seemed unlikely, but I deduced that he had served as a local informant and hit-wizard. The old Partisans had been singular in focus, and were unconcerned with the nationalities of their members, so long as they opposed Grindelwald's advancement into Russia.

The final two members of my team were an unlikely pair: Geoffrey, a slight, balding English wizard who was nonetheless an Expert Curse Breaker and Magi-Meteorologist; and Mia, a tiny German witch with braided black hair and huge eyes. She was our communications specialist and Magi-Zoologist.

"Kane," I said. The Unspeakable stood nearby. "Do you have measures in place in case we fail?"

"Always," Kane replied.

I nodded, and kicked off from the ground. My team followed me.

Just as I had stipulated earlier, we glided to the coast and dropped down to just a few metres above the crashing waves. We rode the coastline in silence. My senses were active, but I felt no perimeter wards or detection charms. The cliff face was sheer and broken on our right.

We swung into the bay of Rybagrad ten minutes after taking to the air. I had described the layout of the area in empirical terms, but seeing it with our own eyes gave us a sense of perspective you couldn't get from a map.

Longhouses and fishing sheds clung to the water's edge like barnacles to the hull of a ship. The place was only a hundred years old, which compared to many places in the world made it practically a newborn. But while it wasn't _old_ in a historical sense, it was _aged._ Time and the arctic weather had seen to it that every bare stretch of timber was riddled with frost to the extent that you could no longer have one without the other. The abandoned village had been adopted by nature, discarding the inhabitants for whatever reason but keeping their homes. From the impression it gave me, this frigid cluster of dwellings could have been merely the branches of an enormous, primordial tree whose trunk grew beneath the earth.

And above the village, atop the northern cliffs, loomed the nameless peak of Rybagrad.

The mountain was crooked and hollow, lounging across the high cliffs like a cadaver whose insides had spilled out across the bleak harbour. We were treated to a half-section view of the bluff, exposing the rain-slicked cave systems that riddled the mountain like weeping sores on a collapsed beast. The heavy core of granite was visible through the concave opening on the side facing Rybagrad, with only softer, sedimentary rocks left to shield it, overhanging the massive aperture like curtains of torn flesh.

Something about the mountain revolted me. Acidic bile sizzled at the back of my throat as my cheeks pulled into an involuntary grimace.

There was no sign of activity.

We hung low, weaving between the waves. Our feet touched the ground on the southern side of the village beside one of the longhouses. In a place like this, windows were a frivolity. The walls of the longhouse were hard-packed and sealed through calefaction in order to retain as much heat as possible. I couldn't sense anyone inside, and neither could a carefully-controlled _Homenum Revelio_. As far as we could tell, our covert insertion had been successful.

Noam crouched and looked around nervously. "Couldn't help but notice you didn't mention what we'd do upon arriving here," he muttered to me.

"That was because our next actions would depend entirely on what kind of defences Crouch has set up," I replied. I was still in my disguise as Unspeakable Graham.

"I think I can sense the 'turbulence' you mentioned," said Darya.

I nodded tersely. As soon as we came into the bay, I felt it. Like pins and needles across my skin, so mild it could almost be ignored if it weren't for the steady pulsing of psychic energy that accompanied it.

 _Thump-thump… thump-thump…_

The pulse was slow and deep. It reminded me of my 'sonar' trick, used when combing large areas with nothing but my mind, but there was no 'return' pulse. An invisible heart throbbed somewhere in Rybagrad.

Immediately, I was reminded of my instinctive dislike of the mountain on the northern side of the village. The more I focused on it, the more certain I became.

"I think the mountain is the source of the turbulence," I informed the team.

Geoffrey wiped frozen sweat from his balding head. "Are we heading up there, then?" he said nervously. I hadn't chosen him for his courage, only his knowledge and skill.

"Not yet. I want to inspect the village a little more, maybe try –"

A human presence appeared at the edges of my conservative psychic search radius. They moved among the longhouses, heading in our direction.

"Incoming," I indicated the bearing. "One person, maybe more hidden from sight." Or using voidrope.

We waited in silence as the presence closed in. The _second_ I laid eyes on him, I pummelled the surrounding area with magical and psychic awareness, searching for hidden companions. My team winced at the sensation, and the new arrival paused.

He was bearded, bald, and had a sagging face that clung to his pronounced cheekbones like a mountain climber losing his grip. Despite the wands trained on him, he seemed completely unperturbed.

"Identify yourself," I said.

The man blinked slowly at me. From what I could sense, his brain activity was less potent than that of normal people – possibly a sign of dementia or poor health.

"Sir?" Darya asked.

"Go on," I replied.

Darya said something in Russian, and the man responded in kind. I had some knowledge of the language myself, but it was limited to what I had picked up from the mercenary who had shot me in the back.

"He says his name is Lyov," Darya translated. "He says he lives here."

"Is he aware the town has been abandoned for over a century?" Noam said snarkily.

Darya ignored him and looked to me. I shrugged. "Ask him."

Lyov shook his head slightly when Darya finished. His response was clipped.

"Abandoned by Muggles," she said. "Apparently, a community of magical folk had lived here before the Muggles built Rybagrad."

I nodded slowly, getting an idea as to why the Muggles had ditched this place. 'Get off my lawn' was a fairly common response when Muggles encroached on traditional wizarding territory.

"Ask him about any other outsiders he might have encountered recently."

She did, and there was no mistaking the grimace Lyov wore as he replied.

"Apparently," Darya said again, "He and his remaining people have been tormented by a group of wizards for the past couple of weeks."

"Where are they?" I asked quickly.

Darya paused, regarding me with hooded eyes. "The wizards, or his people?"

I deliberated for a moment. "Both."

After a brief conversation, she said, "He doesn't know where the wizards are, though he suspects they are using the cave system in the mountain. His people are taking shelter inside a tidal cave nearby. We flew right past it on our way in."

"We'll meet his people first. Can he lead us there?"

Lyov brought us back to the waterline on a meandering route that used the longhouses to shield us from the mountain. At the water's edge, he turned and looked at us expectantly.

"What is it?" I said.

Darya barked something in a demanding tone, and Lyov gestured at the lapping water as he responded. She sighed. "As a security measure, the way back into the cave will open only at set times. We are early. Lyov says we will only have to wait another three hours."

"Oh, _magnifique,_ " Noam moaned. Mia and Geoffrey, our less vocal companions, exchanged uneasy glances with each other at the prospect of being here for an extended period of time.

"We're not waiting three hours," I said shortly. Cautiously, I directed my senses past the waves and into the rocky underwater portions of the massive cliffs beside us. I crawled through every crack and valley like a silent sea predator searching for signs of life.

 _There._

In a cave half a kilometre out to sea, carved into the cliffside and barely visible from above, I detected at least a dozen human minds.

I twisted my wand in a circle over our group. We all disappeared from sight, even Lyov. Then, wary of the mountain looming on my right, I walked onto the water. I sensed the others following me, our splashy footsteps lost in the foaming waves. Walking on water might have been an impressive party trick two thousand years ago, but for any respectable wizard, it was a simple charm.

The only reason we hadn't been Disillusioned on the way in was out of a desire to avoid tripping any wards that had been put in place. Active spells tended to make a lot of noise, magically speaking.

We staggered and jumped over waves, the constantly-shifting ocean playing havoc with our balance. In another setting, it would have been rather fun.

The entrance to the tidal cave was visible just above the water line. Come nightfall, the place would be flooded. Wizards had the benefit of not needing to worry about such things. A Water-Repelling Charm over the hole would keep the interior nice and dry.

Carefully, they climbed down into the dark passageway. Every corner diluted the daylight a little more, until shadows reigned completely.

"Sir?" Mia whispered uncertainly. The damn woman nearly made me jump she was so quiet.

"I can see the whole cave," I said reassuringly. "Things will lighten up in a moment."

Sure enough, orange light flickered ahead. The tunnel broadened into a cavern the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The light didn't come from mounted torches as I had expected, but rather emanated from a huge, circular chasm that took up half of the cavern. There were no other sources of illumination.

To avoid startling anyone, I cancelled the Disillusionment Charms. Near the edge of the chasm, a dozen tattered-looking people watched our approach. Just like Lyov, I detected lower levels of brain activity from them, and wondered if they had been suffering from malnutrition since childhood. What kind of life could a group of people, even wizards, carve out here?

Lyov went and spoke to a woman around his age. The other villagers watched us with fearful eyes. There were men and women, elders and children. They weren't soldiers. They probably weren't even aware of anything happening beyond their little patch of coastline. Crouch had disrupted their lives, brought terror to the homes of people who were completely uninvolved.

"Why don't they have wands?" I said to nobody. "They should just leave."

Darya interpreted that as an order to ask them. I kinda liked the way she spoke Russian. It was a little exotic.

The villagers shifted around, revealing another member of their group bound and gagged on the floor. Lyov stepped forward, holding a wand loosely in between his fingers in a way that told me he had no real experience with spellcasting. He said something.

"They only have one wand," Darya repeated. "And it belonged to the man on the floor. He was the only one of them who knew more than a few spells."

"Why is he tied up?"

Suddenly, the bound man sprang to his feet, dislodging his gag.

"Annie Mertvy! Annie Mertvy!" the man hollered, bloodshot eyes so wide they were in danger of popping out. "Bizhat! Radi-boga-vigi!"

His arms were seized by weary-looking young men. Nearby, an older woman patted the screaming man on the shoulder and made soothing sounds as the gag was replaced.

Darya made a clicking noise with her tongue. "I cannot parse his accent."

"Why doesn't Lyov sound like that?" I asked.

"Is that really the most pertinent question of the hour?" Noam hissed. His eyes darted around the villagers as though expecting them to attack us at any moment.

Darya asked Lyov something. "One of the interlopers put him," she nodded at the screaming man, "under a curse for too long. Possibly the Cruciatus Curse."

"Sounds like the sort of thing Crouch would be into," I muttered. Brain damage was common among those who experienced the curse for extended periods of time. "It's possible his speech centres were altered by the trauma. There's really no telling what kind of effects can manifest from something like that."

"He was the only one with enough magical knowledge to get them out of here," Mia said sadly. "That must be why he was targeted."

"Why not just kill him?" Geoffrey said queasily. The slight, balding Englishman had twisted his ankle while traversing the waves. Mia, our Communications Specialist had proved handy with medical spells as well.

"Crouch probably thinks it's hilarious," I said. "Darya. Ask them what that hole is all about, and why there's light coming out of it."

Darya nodded and did so, but when Lyov replied, she didn't translate it immediately. Instead, frowning, she asked a follow-up questions that carried tones of clarification. Lyov repeated what he had said the first time.

Darya looked at me and opened her mouth, then closed it, then licked her lips and said, "They believe… Well, sir, they believe they're digging a pit to Hell."

* * *

The villagers unnerved me, and not just because of the situation. Their psychic presences were somehow diminished. They weren't psychically immune, like Blaise, they were just… less. I feared that if I looked away from them, they would cease to function. It was like standing among department store mannequins. I couldn't make sense of it.

Naturally, upon discovering their infernal ambitions, I immediately approached the artificial chasm and peered into its orange, flickering depths. It was… startlingly deep. I couldn't see the bottom.

"How did they do this with only one wand and no trained wizards?" I muttered.

Darya relayed my question. "They have been doing this for generations," she said. I detected a faint hint of uneasiness from the stoic woman. She touched the cross at her neck.

"Why? Even if there is a hell, and they could reach it by digging, why would they want to? I've heard it's a little uncomfortable down there."

"To 'free the adversary'," Darya said disgustedly. It didn't take a lot to figure out what that meant.

"That doesn't explain why."

" _They_ won't explain why," she snapped. "They are agents of the Devil. What more reason do they need?"

I let the matter lie. As far as I was concerned, these people were crazy. A big scary hole full of orange light was hardly the most complex illusion to pull off. Sure enough, when I sent my senses down into the chasm, rather than finding hellfire, I found the borders of a powerful, but finite manifestation. More real than an illusion, but definitely not what it appeared to be.

Something wasn't adding up with these villagers, and I was getting side-tracked dealing with their weirdness.

"Enough of this," I said. "I'm certain Crouch is in the mountain. I'll carve a tunnel up to the south side of the village so we don't have to take the scenic route again. Darya, keep questioning them. Mia, see what kind of communication spells still work within this turbulence. Geoffrey, have a look at that pit. I'm pretty sure it's fake, so look for a way to prove it. Noam, keep an eye on the villagers. I don't know what they're trying to pull here."

Tunnelling with magic was fairly straightforward. I transfigured the rock in front of me into pillars that I then used as support to keep everything from caving in. My sense of direction hadn't been thrown off by our descent into the villagers' cavern, so I was able to angle my approach and avoid wasting time.

I finally carved a garage-door sized hole that led out into the southern part of Rybagrad. If that pit really went to Hell, it was now joined with the land of the living. They were one and the same.

Darya must have struck up a rapport with the villagers, because they followed us out into the snowy streets, looking around curiously. The gagged man stayed behind, protected by two young men.

We took shelter inside a two-level longhouse. The interior was black and layered thick with dust. The villagers clearly didn't use the old Muggle buildings. Wherever they had taken shelter before Crouch showed up, it wasn't here.

"The Patronus Charm should still work," Mia informed me. "Other than that, only direct psychic contact is viable for communication."

"Thank you," I said. The German woman bobbed her head. Her black braids swung against her shoulders.

"I found no evidence that the chasm is anything other than a chasm, sir," Geoffrey said next, rubbing a hand through his thinning white hair after a longing glance at Mia..

"I see," I replied levelly. Clearly, despite his talent with Curse-Breaking, we were in territory beyond even his skill level.

"They don't have a lot to say," Darya reported finally. "I tried asking them about their lives, their history, where they live and what they eat, but they just stared at me."

"Maybe a little too much at once," Noam snorted. "Imagine how it looks from their perspective: there you are, merrily digging a hole to Hell, and these randoms show up and start interrogating you. Bound to be a bit off-putting, oui?"

I sighed patiently. "Noam, keep your wand ready. I don't trust them one bit." Even as I said it, I felt stupid. The villagers had low-level thoughts, from what I could sense. Perhaps it wasn't so much they were hiding something as it was they simply didn't understand the questions.

But that didn't explain the false hell-pit.

We were being screwed with. I could feel it as easily as I felt my own fingertips. The worst part? I was almost certain it wasn't Crouch pulling the strings.

Suddenly, I noticed something vital. "Why didn't the villagers follow us in here?" I asked. I could sense their presences standing stock-still outside the longhouse. My team stared at me for a moment. I shoved past them. "We might as well have a sign out saying, 'Here we are!'"

Sure enough, the villagers milled around in the open, clearly visible to anyone watching from the mountain. Lyov blinked owlishly at me.

"What are you doing?" I snapped, forgetting the language barrier in my annoyance. "Get inside!"

Darya marched out after me, translating loudly.

Lyov nodded, but as he turned around, his forehead exploded like a rotten pumpkin. A bloody mist hung in the air as he toppled backwards soundlessly. Darya flinched and dropped into a combat stance, Mia shrieked, Geoffrey fell onto his rear, and Noam just stared, his face frozen in shock.

A distant _crack_ reached my ears. I immediately cast a shield over those present. Less than a second later, something tiny and indescribably fast impacted the shield. It held easily, but the follow-up _crack_ confirmed my suspicions.

"The mercenaries are using Muggle weaponry," I explained quickly, ever wary of wizard ignorance. "They are launching projectiles at us from very far away using something called a rifle. These projectiles, known as bullets, can arrive before the sound of the rifle does. Don't let your guard down."

Meanwhile, I squinted at the village, trying to guess where the rounds had come from. My eyes were naturally drawn to the mountain, but there were so many crags and caves that it was impossible to find –

"Up there," said Darya pointing not at the mountain, but at the cliffs below. Of course. The cliffs were closer to the village. Even expert marksmen had limits. Not to mention, the turbulence emanating from the mountain prevented Disapparition, which necessitated physical transportation of weapons and equipment. Since the mountain was their base, they wouldn't want to put themselves too far away to retreat.

I conjured a pair of binoculars and panned them across the cliff edge until I saw them. A blurry handful of men, four by my count, operated a pair of long, silver rifles on stands. I actually saw the muzzle flash and had time to count to two before my shield absorbed another bullet. The sound followed after.

"We've wasted too much time on these idiots," I said harshly. "Darya, you're in charge. Use your head and do whatever is necessary to keep everyone from making more stupid mistakes."

"What are you going to do?" she asked.

"I'm going to take out those snipers and rip their minds apart until I find where Crouch is hiding and what defences they have in place."

Darya blinked. Then she reinforced my shield without a word.

I let my shield drop. Bullets were tiny and easy to block magically. I had no doubt Darya could handle it.

"What about him?" Mia whimpered, gesturing at Lyov's headless body. Blood steamed as it poured into the snow.

" _They_ clearly don't give a shit," I replied, nodding at the rest of the villagers, who simply stared at us. Abruptly, the old woman Lyov had spoken to burst into tears and fell to her knees beside the body.

"You were saying?" said Noam.

"If they do anything other than stand there, stun them all," I continued mercilessly. "This is the weirdest damn village I've ever seen."

Without another word, I summoned the broom I had used during the infiltration, cast a Shield Charm on myself, and flew off towards the snipers.

High-velocity rounds splashed against my shield as I approached. The time between impact and gunshot shortened by the moment. They switched to wands as I came within fifty metres, but it was already far too late.

As had become a habit, I scanned the area using both psychic and magical means, just in case someone had voidrope nearby. Crouch _had_ mentioned collecting it when he attacked the Hogwarts Express.

The snipers, all four of them, dropped to the ground without casting a single spell. The weight of my mind simply beat them into unconsciousness, like squashing bugs. I wasn't in the mood for a fight.

I landed beside them, eyeing their long rifles on bipods near the edge of the cliff, and immediately tore into their heads. What I saw disturbed me. Crouch had ordered the remaining six members of the Naire Partisans to take up positions along a specific tunnel near the summit of the mountain that just happened to be the only route to a large chamber.

That was it.

Beyond the snipers themselves, there were no special defences in place. Or at least, if there were, the Partisans weren't aware of any. That disturbed me more than the abandoned village, the nauseating mountain, the creepy villagers and their hell-pit – all of it.

Because if Crouch wasn't putting much effort into his defences, that meant he wanted me to find him. He wanted to have no chance of escape and nothing to lose… If I'd learned anything from examining Daphne's memories of the fight at Lady Zabini's house, not to mention the insanely ballsy attack on the Hogwarts Express, it was that Crouch had a lot of power, but was a slave to spectacle. He'd deliberately tempered his skill while fighting my friends simply because he wanted to see the psy-vortex go off. He'd almost gotten his wish a second time by dropping a Mass Decay field on us, which he must have known would trigger the vortex. Everything, his men, his own plans, all of it was secondary to his seemingly irresistible urge to watch things explode.

So now, cornered at last, I couldn't help but wonder what his final piece of entertainment would be.

* * *

Darya stared up at the mountain. In the twenty minutes since Unspeakable Graham had gone to deal with the 'rifles', clouds had begun to circle around the peak. Thunder rumbled menacingly, but every direction she looked, the horizon was clear. The storm was literally forming out of nowhere.

The remaining villagers howled and wailed unreservedly, their screams echoing through the darkening town like the shrieks of a Banshee hive. It had begun only five minutes ago, startling the shit out of Darya and the rest of the team.

"What the hell are they yelling about?" Noam snapped, rolling his wand between his fingers nervously.

"Sultana?" repeated Mia, her little eyebrows bunched up in confusion. "Sultana, sultana… What does that mean?"

"Weather conditions around the mountain are getting worse," Geoffrey reported, his voice trembling.

Darya marched into their midst. "Is this the same storm that hit Britain a couple of weeks ago?"

Geoffrey shook his head. "That stormfront broke up before it even reached Norway. This is something new… and odd."

"Odd how?" Darya looked back at the screeching villagers, her lips pursed tightly.

Geoffrey confirmed her suspicions. "These clouds didn't arrive here. This system didn't form naturally. It's like the storm just… appeared."

"Like magic," Noam said sarcastically.

"Any word from Unspeakable Graham?" Darya demanded, ignoring the comment.

"Nothing since he went up to the cliff," squeaked Mia. "I don't want to try and reach him if he's engaged in combat."

Noam growled and marched over to Darya's side. "That's great and everything, but mind telling us why they're screaming about sultanas?"

" _Satana_ ," Darya corrected with a grimace. "They're screaming 'Satan'."

* * *

I landed my broom beside my team once more. The shouting villagers didn't escape my notice.

"What's wrong with them?" I demanded.

"We don't know," Darya replied. "It began fifteen minutes after you left. They're screaming –"

"I know what they're screaming. Don't let them get to you. We have a mission here and we're not letting anything stop us."

Maybe that was what did it. Maybe there really are gods of irony out there, and I had tempted them one time too many.

A _tsunami_ of psychic energy washed over us, frazzling my senses for a good fifteen seconds. The rest of the team fell to their knees and clutched their heads. The villagers stopped screaming immediately.

Impossibly, I heard the villagers think the same thing at the same time. It didn't come to me with the clarity I usually had, as though it was being translated by my mind into a dialect I could understand, and I knew, instinctively, that the source dialect sure as shit wasn't Russian.

The thought burned bright in my mind as I slowly panned my gaze up to the stormy mountain peak. The entire upper portion of the mountain burst like a cyst, casting a cloud of dust several kilometres high.

I couldn't believe it. It couldn't be possible.

A terrible roar sounded from across the bay, and with a sinking feeling I realised that Barty Crouch Junior was going to be damn near impossible to stop.

He had a dragon, damn him.

He had an Elder Dragon.

* * *

What we had felt was the psychic backwash of the ancient creature emerging from its slumber. Somehow, the beast had dwelt _inside_ the mountain and had erupted from the peak in a cyclonic blast of magical and psychic energies, plus raw, concussive force, decapitating the peak in an instant. Loose rocks and fresh snow were stripped away in one violent stroke. The terrain around Rybagrad was reduced to its hardiest elements by the dragon's mere arrival.

Its roar was so painfully loud, so deep in the infrasonic register that it reached some primal part of my hindbrain and caused me to let out a whimper. Other members of the task force reacted with less restraint: Darya and Mia screamed until they were hoarse, Noam vomited noisily onto the tundra, and Geoffrey turned and sprinted away, his robes flapping, a trail of urine left in his wake.

I felt a kind of helplessness I had never felt before. In the ensuing silence, as people clung to each other and tried to convalesce their fractured psyches, I was struck by a single, stark realisation: I could do nothing to stop this.

There was literally nothing I or the task force could bring to bear that could even hope to challenge the Elder Dragon. For that matter, I wasn't certain there was anything the entire Wizarding World could do in opposition to a beast of such magnitude.

A portion of the sky detached itself and fell towards the ocean. In my shell-shocked state, I couldn't seem to look directly at the dragon. My senses were fried, my thoughts in disarray. All I got was a vague indication of something massive moving through the air.

Even when my mind reconstituted itself moments later, I was unable to focus on any details regarding the dragon's appearance. It was draconic in general shape, but as for colour, scales, dimensions, features, none of them seemed to make it from my eyes to my brain.

 _Alright,_ I told myself, pushing my panic down. _It resists clear observation. That's a fact. That's something I can use._

The living hurricane hovered far out to sea, a spinning razor blade of silver and blue. Waterspouts rose unbidden around it, like the columns of a Greek temple paying respect to a forgotten god. With each heartbeat, the shadows of enormous, neighbourhood-sized wings rose and fell, causing waves of such size that the cliffs trembled. Within the storm, twin burning points of light focused, unblinking, on the mountain.

The longhouses and fishing sheds withstood the arrival of the first waves, creaking and shuddering in the merciless swell. But as the onslaught continued, Rybagrad's century-old architecture was turned to mulch, chewed and regurgitated by the starving ocean. In minutes, the town was half-gone. Not even foundations remained.

"Back to the cave!" I roared, enhancing my voice. Darya and the rest stumbled towards the tunnel without seeming to realise it. "I'm going after Crouch! Stay in the cave and keep your heads down!"

The instructions might not mean anything now, but when they recovered enough to think clearly, they would remember. There was no point trying to take them with me. The Elder Dragon had disabled them just by showing up, and I couldn't afford to look after dead weight.

In what would prove to be a critical display of tunnel vision, I didn't notice that the villagers were already gone.

* * *

If Crouch could control such a beast, why wouldn't he send it against his enemies? The answer was obvious: Crouch had _no_ control over the Elder Dragon, he just knew how to wake it. His plans were madness from the start, but that didn't make them any less dangerous. Here, with his back against the wall, Crouch had absolutely no reason to stay his hand. I had expected a last stand. I had expected a number of horrific traps and monsters to stand between me and my goal.

I hadn't expected this.

Elder Dragons were called such for a reason. Hell, I hadn't even believed they existed. To most of the world, they were a fairy tale, or at best a beast that had long been lost to the murky depths of history, hunted down or otherwise made extinct from environmental factors. There was no procedure for this, no spell designed to combat them. As I saw it, there was no possible recourse for humans faced with a foe like this.

I could feel its titanic presence offshore. Each beat of its wings was powerful enough to shake my diaphragm and rattle my bones.

I took my broom back up to the base of the mountain, which now looked more like a mesa due to the missing tip, but the winds became too dangerous to fly in.

Dismounted, the path from the clifftop to the summit was layered and craggy due to the chalk and other soft rocks that had been shucked off like blankets when the mountain formed a hundred-or-so million years ago. I made myself lighter to aid my ascent, hopping from rock to rock even as the turbulence urged me away. Madman or not, trap or not, I had little choice but to give Crouch the confrontation he'd been aching for.

I passed the corpses of Naire Partisans who had either been killed in the explosion or rendered comatose by their proximity to the psychic awakening.

 _Seven… eight… nine… ten._

That was all of them. Crouch really hadn't given a fuck about them after all. No wonder he didn't bother with fancy defences. All he needed was to whip out the big guns and watch me flounder.

I found him at the top of the headless mountain. The peak resembled a flower bulb that had been forced open from the inside: curled, smoking petals of rock pointed in every direction, leaving the icy bed bare and flat. When I leapt into that spiky maw, I did so knowing that I would either emerge victorious or not at all.

Crouch stood in the centre of it all. Beside him, a circle of voidrope nearly three metres in diameter contrasted starkly against the icy ground, a black ring in a sea of blue and white.

"Crouch," I said.

"Potter," he replied jauntily. "Your Polyjuice has worn off, by the way. Not that I couldn't tell it was you from the start."

I ignored him. "How did you find the Elder Dragon?"

Crouch flashed me a grin. He wore a slimmed-down version of the military fatigues worn by the Naire Partisans. He'd done away with the vest and the many pockets, and carried nothing but his wand.

"Would you believe it was an accident?" he said. "No, of course you wouldn't. In your world, everything has a logical explanation. Everything has a purpose, a chain of calculated events, a specific, rational history. That's why I find you so hilarious."

"So it was random chance? You just happened to stumble across a beast that hasn't been seen in millennia?"

Crouch regarded me with amusement in his eyes. "I think you would honestly be frightened by how much of history was decided by completely random events, or even just plain incompetence. Not every war began for logical reasons. Not every empire was founded on the backs of geniuses carefully plotting every move. Misinformation, hysteria, stupidity, and yes, random chance, have decided more about our world today than you would believe."

"How did you awaken the Elder Dragon?" I pressed.

"For example," he went on, unconcerned with the ancient creature hovering off the coast, close enough that each beat of its wings made my ears thrum, "A man, born into a good family, raised by a loving mother, who nevertheless falls into the wrong crowd at school, and begins to spiral. Imprisoned, he sees that he has occupied two extremes during his short life: the good, innocent schoolboy with the potential to help the world, and the vicious, scum-of-the-earth terrorist he has become. But despite how long he dwells on his past, he cannot find the instant that his path began to swerve away from prosperity. Instead, he finds moments, occurrences, thousands of them, with no seeming reason or purpose behind them, but each driving him closer to his inevitable incarceration."

"Don't disassociate yourself from your actions," I said, fed up. "You could have turned aside and made different choices, but you didn't. Even now, you could technically choose to give yourself up, but you won't. We can argue about whether free will exists or whether we're all just products of our environment and biology all day long, but the fact of the matter is I don't give a fuck if deep down you're just a scared little boy who was led astray by the big bad wolf. Everything has already been said and done. You're going to tell me about the Elder Dragon, or I'm going to rip the information from your skull."

"What is there to tell?" Crouch flicked a wrist at the voidrope circle beside him. "All the important elements seem clear."

I stared at him, then at the circle, then back to him.

"Oh my _God_ , Harry!" Crouch laughed hysterically. "You have absolutely no idea what's going on, do you? This is priceless!"

Thoroughly irritated now, I searched my brain for something that would wipe the smile off his face, and for some reason, said, "I'm surprised I didn't find another psy-vortex among the people down there."

Instantly, Crouch's lined, freckled face turned from mirth into flat annoyance.

"Who _were_ you talking to down there?" he snapped. "Who were all those people? There's no way a few dozen people could slip inside the village without my knowledge."

I held my tongue. Was he screwing with me? The villagers said Crouch and his men had been tormenting them for weeks.

 _Except…_

Why hadn't I seen evidence of that when I rifled through the snipers' minds? They hadn't known anything about the villagers. Even the one who killed Lyov had no idea where the old man had come from.

My brain followed patterns and found connections faster than I could articulate them. My knowledge of Russian had been improved by my manhandling of the snipers' psyches, and one of them just so happened to be familiar with nearly-incomprehensible rural accents. I applied his knowledge to my memory of the bound and gagged man the villagers had been looking after.

" _Annie mertvy! Annie mertvy! Bizhat! Radi-boga-vigi!"_

 _They're dead! They're dead! Flee! For the love of God, flee!_

A chill ran down my spine. What the hell was going on here? The rest of the team was certainly in danger. I just had to hope they could look after themselves.

Come to think of it, why hadn't Lyov mentioned that Crouch's men were using Muggle weaponry? Why did Crouch seem genuinely confused as to who the villagers were? Why was nothing making any goddamn sense today?

Neither of us had raised our wands yet, but I felt the moment arrive with the sudden clarity of adrenaline. I lunged forward with my mind. As much as it galled me, I couldn't just kill him. The Elder Dragon was beyond my knowledge, but if Crouch knew how to awaken it, maybe he knew how to put it back to sleep. I needed to probe his mind before I obliterated it.

Crouch's Protection function reared its ugly head, emitting a torrent of white noise inside his skull, obfuscating his thoughts. Random thoughts, meaningless questions, disturbing images and false memories; everything poured out of that function. It was supposed to be as distracting and headache-inducing to navigate as possible, capable of bearing the brunt of any psychic assault without losing anything valuable. The attacker was supposed to be led in circles, chasing fake thought processes until the owner of the function could find and neutralise them.

I ignored the lot. I didn't plan on stopping until I had come out the other side of Crouch's head.

Half a second left.

I was almost through. The barrage of useless information produced by the function began to stutter, and individual thoughts became visible through the avalanche. It was a trick, meant to make the attacker think they were seeing actual secrets.

I _broke_ the function, shattering the logical structure that had been fired in a psychic furnace, leaving the remains twitching in Crouch's mind, synapses firing into empty space, their calls unheeded. The brain damage caused by such a traumatic event would probably kill him within a week anyway, but I was interested in a more immediate result.

I pushed through the swollen, bleeding wreckage in Crouch's Occlumency framework – and found a second Protection function waiting for me.

My second was up.

I moved enough of my focus back to my body just in time to block a Killing Curse with a flock of conjured doves. Six doves were killed before the curse ran out of energy, and the remaining twenty immediately broke into a random, scattered formation and began divebombing Crouch. Sometimes they feinted, sometimes they zoomed straight for an artery.

A sonic vibration scattered the rocks at my feet. The mountain shook, and our duel, however furious, paused briefly in the aftermath. The Elder Dragon had growled.

"Ooh," Crouch cooed, turning my doves to dust. "Looks like you got its attention, Potter."

The distant rhythm of huge wings rising and falling altered somewhat, which I inferred to mean the dragon had shifted its position slightly.

If using my psychic talents drew its attention, then I… was… really quite fucked.

"There it is," Crouch said with a smile, watching my expression. He reengaged with a squirt of Fiendfyre that turned the ground to slush. I caught the flames inside a transparent bubble, depriving them of both magic and oxygen, snuffing them instantly. I turned the scorched air within into carbon dioxide and sent it rushing at Crouch's mouth and nose. A single, involuntary inhalation would kill him.

For once, Crouch kept his mouth shut, clearing the air with a defensive swish of his wand. Then, he did something that I rather didn't expect. He flared his psychic power.

The Elder Dragon growled again, shaking the ground.

"What are you doing?" I shouted, alarmed.

Blood poured from Crouch's nostrils and ran around his lips like a clown smile. "You were a little too rough with me, Potter. I can barely keep my eyes open after what you did to my brain. So I figure, why not speed things up a little?"

Crouch flared again, not doing anything with the energy, but attracting the ire of the Elder Dragon once more.

"It'll kill you too!" I said sharply.

"I'll die happy knowing you're coming with me."

I went on the offensive, combining curses and transfigurations in an attempt to shut him up, psychically speaking. But I was hampered by my hesitance to use the Mind Arts as well, and so Crouch only had to defend himself against the power of a teenage boy, still growing. He flared with every block and parry, emphasising his wand strokes with psychic pulses.

The Elder Dragon roared, once again reaching into a primitive place inside me and eliciting a twitch of fear. Thankfully, Crouch didn't appear to be immune to it, staggering and clapping his hands to his ears.

I took a gamble. Crouch's psychic antics were clearly pissing the dragon off, but the beast hadn't attacked yet. I didn't know what form that attack might take – for all I knew, Elder Dragons breathed radiation and could disintegrate me in moments – but I decided that if I could get inside Crouch's head with one last attack, I might be able to keep things from getting worse.

As Crouch shook off the roar, I thundered into his Occlumency framework once again, charging past the ruins of his first Protection function and throwing myself headfirst into the second. It was identical to the first – a copy implanted alongside the original. I only needed half a second to break it.

Thoughts and memories – _real_ thoughts, not more distractions – bubbled up through the cracks in Crouch's mind. Most were useless without context, so I focused on specifics: how to put the Elder Dragon to sleep again. My search criteria didn't find anything, and it took me a moment to realise why. Crouch and I didn't think about the Elder Dragon's awakening in the same terms.

Where I thought Crouch had awoken the beast, Crouch believed he had 'released' it. I chased the term, pulled on the threads attached to it. The Elder Dragon stirred, aware of my activity, but I had to keep going or all would be lost.

A word popped out at me.

 _Fane._

There were so many threads attached to that one word that I didn't have time to follow any of them. It didn't matter. At last, I had a sympathetic connection with Crouch's mind that I could use as a staging point. Sympathetic in the magical sense, that is. I felt nothing but disgust for such an abominable human being. Through that connection, I assimilated specific thought clusters and sorted them into my own mind.

The circle of voidrope was a fane. The Elder Dragon had been sealed within it.

More details flashed through my mind, too fast to articulate. I had a plan.

I withdrew from Crouch's mind and he collapsed sideways into a puddle of meltwater. Then, I turned to face the Elder Dragon, and flared my psychic power in the most provocative, insulting way I knew how.

The Elder Dragon burst through the seething halo of storm clouds like a breaching whale. For a shocked instant, I saw its face. More insectoid than draconic, its blazing eyes were tiny in the dark, concave sockets that took up most of its flat, angular skull. What at first appeared to be short white fur resolved itself to be a layer of constantly-forming psychic frost. The beast's very existence was so psychically potent it wore rime like a cloak, shedding tonnes of it in the form of icy hail that rained on the waves below.

No wonder it hated us using the Mind Arts. That was _its_ thing.

Perhaps the most unaccountable thing about the dragon was its utter lack of… well, I want to say _emotion_ , but I would feel silly. But where the dragon Jim faced in the First Task had been an angry lizard with wings, the miscreation before me now was something else entirely. There are parts of the human brain that do nothing except analyse the topologies of other living things – every surface a book, every muscle twitch a clue. Is it a predator? Is it prey? Is it afraid, weak, tired, hungry, horny, wounded, old, or lost? Our conscious minds interpret these things in rational ways: that dog is whining, it must be hungry. But the real identification happens on a level below conscious thought, somewhere in the brain stem. It was what kept us alive before we ruled the planet. It was the reason _we_ , not the dogs or the goblins or the Veela or the vampires, were on top.

I couldn't see a damn thing about the Elder Dragon.

My earlier thoughts about how it resisted observation echoed in my mind, but even now, with a clear, terrifying sightline on the beast, I could discern absolutely nothing about its nature, its character, its thought patterns and behaviours – _nothing._ Beyond insectoid, this thing was _alien_. Forget inhuman, it was anti-comprehension. A being that thwarted every attempt to understand its internal workings.

These were my thoughts as the Elder Dragon made its final, rapid approach to the summit where I stood. Its mass nearly equalled the mountain-turned-mesa, careening towards me like a sapient, frozen asteroid.

Less then five hundred metres out, I felt the fane react. Like the engine of an ancient car turning over after decades in the shed, some primitive magical system thrummed to life.

You see, I had figured something out. The 'disturbance' that kept us from Apparating around here was coming from the fane, not the Elder Dragon, since it had been present before the Elder Dragon appeared. It made me think of an open radio frequency, buzzing constantly, washing over the surrounding area, ready for input. Crouch had 'opened' the fane, but he hadn't closed it. And, hopefully, it was a door that swung both ways.

It was, quite honestly, a terrible plan based on nothing more than scraps of ideas plucked out of a madman's head. But it was all I had.

I flooded the area around the fane with my psychic presence, and baited a god like a matador baits a bull.

In the fleeting heartbeats before the dragon arrive, I feared I had misunderstood something important. But, at the last instant, when that mantis-like obsidian face seemed ready to consume me, and those burning eyes seemed fit to turn me to ash, the magic of the fane leapt out, ensnaring the beast's head in invisible cords of power.

What happened next occurred without my awareness, such was its speed. An impact rocked the mountain. My senses were knocked around like the insides of a pinball machine. There's a blank spot in my head about three minutes long. I'm not sure I could survive reviewing it in a Pensieve. I'm not sure any human could.

When it was over, the Elder Dragon was gone. The voidrope circle remained undisturbed, and the mountain and skies were silent. No storm, no aftershock. It was as though everything the Elder Dragon brought with it had been packed up and shipped off. Well, except for the damage. Rybagrad was totalled. Some of the surrounding cliffs had collapsed in rockslides ten times larger than the village anyway, so it was good that my people had evacuated back to the cave. Assuming the cave hadn't caved in.

 _Oh dear._

I confess to being somewhat punch-drunk as I staggered to my feet. The wind whipped my hair around, but it was just the wind of high altitude, nothing supernatural about it. The disturbance was still in effect, meaning I couldn't expect any reinforcements.

God, I was alive. I was actually alive.

If it had been anyone other than me, I don't think it could have been done. Just thinking about what could have happened made me want to vomit. Could the Elder Dragon have been stopped by other means? Or did I just divert Armageddon?

A grunt of exertion pulled my attention back to the fane. Crouch had thrown himself inside the voidrope circle. I disarmed him swiftly (nearly missing in the process), yet he hardly seemed to notice. Blood ran freely from his nose, a constant, arterial flow. He was dying. I was surprised his brain hadn't already been turned to mush by the psychic activity that had occurred in the past few minutes.

"That… was bullshit," Crouch slurred.

I nodded woozily. "Yeah." I glanced around at the broken summit. The meltwater had re-frozen, but the voidrope remained untouched. I noticed for the first time that the rope circle sat on a raised platform that had been indistinguishable from the rest of the ice due to the water level.

"How's your head?" I asked.

"Hurts," Crouch replied.

"That's good. I'm glad to hear that. You'll be dead in about fifteen minutes, by my estimate."

"More like six, actually," Crouch corrected me.

"Ah."

Slowly, as though every movement pained him – which it probably did – Crouch rolled up his sleeve and stared at his Dark Mark. "Look at that, Potter. You killed it." The tattoo was slowly fading before our eyes. "I guess protecting me from all that nonsense was just too much for it." He dropped his arms to his side and stared at the blue sky, blue like Daphne's eyes, ice-blue, cold…

I noticed my fingers were turning black. "I think I've got frostbite," I remarked.

"Should've brought some mittens. That was another thing my Mark helped me with."

"And how does the Dark Lord's logo protect you from anything?"

"It's not really a…" Crouch trailed off. "Ah, you'll figure it out eventually. There's a whole lot going on that you're completely blind to, Potter. Might want to fix that if you plan on stopping the Dark Lord."

"I was under the impression that he was already stopped," I said dryly. "Just another dead madman. At least you'll have that in common with him, in a couple of minutes."

I approached the fane, registering the 'open-frequency' feeling that led me to my last-ditch plan to stop the Elder Dragon. The closer I came, the more I swore I could hear the dragon's roars coming across a great distance. But if you asked me which direction to point to, I wouldn't be able to answer.

Fanes… I definitely needed to take _that_ subject off the backburner.

"The Dark Lord is more than a man," Crouch declared. "He will never be gone, no matter how many of his followers remain."

I shook my head in pity. "His ideology, whatever it may have been, has been thoroughly scourged from history. If you're implying the ideas he propagated will live beyond the death of his movement, then I'm afraid you've got brain damage. Oh wait, you do."

Crouch laughed so hard his voice went hoarse. "You really... really don't have a clue what you're dealing with, do you Potter? I'm not mad. Far from it. I'm sane enough to realise there's absolutely no chance of winning against him."

"Right," I said, drawing the word out. "So this is your idea of logical thinking, is it? If you can't beat them, join them?"

"Do you know the name of the Dark Lord?" Crouch whispered.

I frowned. "Of course not. It was scourged like everything else."

Crouch shook his head without breaking eye contact. "Not scourged. Only the chosen can say it. Only we lucky few can even remember it. Because to speak the name of the Dark Lord is to understand his true nature."

"And you'd have to be a crazy cult member to understand a guy like that, right? Is that what you're getting at?"

"Do you want to know his name?" He giggled. "Surely it's frustrated you, not being able to find it in any textbooks. Surely you must be curious."

Despite myself, I _was_ curious. It must have shown on my face, because Crouch grinned toothily.

"I'll tell you, Potter - so listen closely."

Crouch's lips moved, but nothing came out. I raised my wand to put an end to his games, but my hand didn't move. The wind howled, but I couldn't hear it. I was deaf, and experiencing a seizure. I didn't understand. The aftershock of the Dark Lord's name struck me, knocking me to the ground as I trembled and quaked. The ground seemed to vibrate along with me.

Beyond the circle of voidrope, the unseen dragon's roars stilled. A sense of impending collision overwhelmed my senses. In my mind, three syllables burned like pyres.

 _Vol._

 _De._

 _Mort._

When I regained lucidity, I found a pile of bones turned to charcoal inside the voidrope circle, arranged roughly in the shape of a man. A blackened, grinning skull fell to dust in the dying breeze.

* * *

Polyjuice transformed me back into Unspeakable Graham, or at least his namesake.

My broom had survived everything, safe and sound where I had left it further down the slope. I flew shakily down to the remains of the village, skimmed atop the soaking rubble, and landed at the entrance to the tunnel I had made. My team had had the foresight to block the entrance to prevent flooding when the waves were breaking, which meant they were very likely still alive.

I broke in and floated quickly down to the chamber containing the so-called 'pit to hell'. The pit itself was absent, plain rock occupying the space it had once bored through. Likewise, the mysterious, spooky orange glow was gone too.

Someone had _definitely_ been fucking with us, and at the worst possible time.

My team stood in a shivering cluster near the wall. A few orbs of light floated around the ceiling like obese fireflies, illuminating the cavern clearly. The villagers were gone, and so was someone else.

"Where's Noam?" I asked.

"He… he was standing nearest to… it," Darya replied. She shook all over, her skin paler than pale.

"To what?"

" _Satana_ ," she whispered, then trembled violently.

"Satan," I repeated, glancing around. As far as I could tell, there weren't any fallen angels around. Not even a whiff of brimstone in the air.

"I _saw_ him," Darya breathed, glaring at me with red-rimmed eyes. Her blonde hair fell across her face, all composure gone. "As clearly as I see you now. It was _him_ , it was impossible, but it was _really him!_ " She began to hyperventilate.

I yanked a Calming Draught from her own pocket and forced it down her throat.

"Can anyone corroborate what you saw?" I asked.

"I saw it too," Mia whimpered. She clutched at her head. Frozen tears speckled her cheeks. "Blazing heat, the curly horns of a ram, hooves for feet, beckoning me, whispering temptations in my head…"

"That's not what he looked like," Darya refuted fervently, or as fervent as one can be when forced into a state of placidity by a potion. "He shone like the sun, as beautiful as he was fearsome. Chains hung from his wrists, but they were rusty and old, close to breaking…"

"My recollection doesn't match either of yours," Geoffrey interjected. "I saw an entity clothed in utter blackness. It was like a pillar of pure entropy, some kind of malicious interloper from a dread-universe that had intersected with ours for a brief moment."

I looked between all three of them as they argued over the impossible.

"When did Satan disappear?" I asked. "And the hell-pit. And the villagers. Was it all at the same time?"

The mumbled answers to the positive.

"They all just… vanished," whispered Mia. "Right before the storm stopped."

"Right." I pinched the bridge of my nose. So capturing the Elder Dragon in the fane had potentially captured something else, too – or at least scared it off. "I'm pretty sure you guys were just subjected to a number of very powerful illusions. I understand they _felt_ real," I said, raising a hand to forestall their objections, "But that's why I said very powerful. They were supposed to feel real. I don't know what the purpose was, besides scaring the shit out of you all, but it's gone now. We need to get back to the staging area."

"Is… does that mean… it's done?" Geoffrey asked tentatively.

"Crouch is dead," I confirmed. "Everything is under control."

* * *

Our welcome back at the staging area wasn't exactly a heroic one. I can't imagine what things looked like from a distance, but from the white faces, it hadn't been fun. We alighted in a loose line on a patch of dirt that had been cleared of snow. I tossed my broom aside while the others fell to their knees, exhausted.

 _Lightweights._

That wasn't quite fair. My functions were so robust I could stay up and thinking when most normal people would have collapsed under the psychic pressure. Even so, I had never faced anything quite like today.

"Kane!" I yelled.

Unspeakable Kane strode forwards, not rushing, but not wasting any time either.

"Unspeakable Graham," he said severely.

I took a deep breath. "I want this entire stretch of coastline put under the heaviest wards we can manage. Protective, repellent, obscuration, all of them. Get every country involved in this to contribute their best warding team, and Obliviate everyone at the end of it. Only the team who went in with me should be allowed to keep their memories. The Unspeakables and their international counterparts should know the _instant_ someone tries to get closer, and should have procedures in place to bring the full force of their response teams against the offender. This area will be restricted to all, for all time."

"Harry," Kane said calmly, quietly enough that nobody could overhear. "This is not the first time we have needed to permanently secure and monitor an anomalous area. There are existing procedures in place that we have already activated." In a rare show of humanity, he put his hand on my shoulder. "Leave the rest to us."

"Alright," I said reluctantly. "There's something else, though." He lowered his voice. "You guys know about fanes, right?"

Kane nodded stiffly.

"Well, I don't suppose you know how to close one?"

Kane's eyes widened almost comically. Immediately, he turned and barked codewords at his fellow Unspeakables. They raced off, and more began Apparating in. Kane squared his jaw and looked back at me. "Anything else?"

"Yeah." I hesitated. "Was Rybagrad populated?"

"Not according to any records we have. At most, there was a sighting of a hermit in the area two decades ago."

"Do you have a description of that hermit?"

Kane eyed me curiously. "I can certainly obtain one."

"I would appreciate it. You should interview my team to see what I'm talking about. Get copies of their memories to me when you can."

"We intend to. Thank you for the information."

"I'm going to bed."

I went to move past him, but Kane seized my arm. "Harry? Is Crouch dead?"

I blinked. "Oh. Yeah."

Kane sighed and released me. "One less problem, at least. Stop by the medical tent and get checked out. Then you can leave."

We left it at that. I was dead on my feet; an extended debrief would be unbearable.

I Portkeyed back to the United Kingdom, and spent the next fourteen hours passed out in my bedroom at Potter Manor.

* * *

 **11 December 1994**

 **Afternoon at Hogwarts**

 **The Day After Crouch**

I rode the elevating spiral staircase leading to the headmaster's office with no small amount of trepidation. I had been skipping school lately, but that wasn't the reason.

Dumbledore sat behind his desk, finishing off a chicken sandwich. He gestured to a waiting chair and I nodded in thanks. I couldn't stop the long sigh that escaped my lips as I sunk into the seat. He was probably aware, to some degree, of the events that had occurred over the past day. I decided to cut to the chase.

"I have learned a name that cannot be spoken safely," I said.

Dumbledore's eyes bored into mine. "I understand," he said quietly. "I must insist that you do not attempt to communicate the name in any way, no matter how clever or abstract. There is quite simply no room for error here - if you make the wrong move, it could kill you. Cleverer wizards than the two of us have died trying."

"Cleverer than us?" I asked.

Dumbledore gave a weary smile that carried a hint of arrogance from his distant past. "One could argue that we are cleverer for not taking such a risk, but alas, it does us no good to split hairs." His face turned grave. "Harry. The only people who can even remember the name you refer to are those who have heard it spoken by one of the Dark Lord's core followers, those branded with the Dark Mark. I must ask - who gave it to you?"

"It was Barty Crouch Junior's last word," I replied. "It caused me to suffer a seizure and rendered me unconscious for a minute. Crouch was destroyed in the act."

"Destroyed?" Dumbledore blinked, then furrowed his brow, making no effort to disguise his surprise. I appreciated the honesty.

"I take it that's not a typical reaction?"

"Not at all. When Bellatrix Lestrange screamed it at me as I defeated her, I felt the word resonate queerly in the air, but suffered no further effects. Lestrange herself only experienced burns on her throat and tongue." Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "Where were you when it was spoken?"

"Beside a circle of voidrope that was part of a fane containing an Elder Dragon."

I remembered standing next to the circle and hearing the dragon's roars in my mind, even as its physical form was removed from the world. The sensation had stuck with me, echoing as though I had poked my head underwater and could hear distant whalesong. When Crouch named the Dark Lord, the Elder Dragon seemed to retreat, getting quieter and quieter, just before something else collided with the 'other side' of the fane and knocked me unconscious.

For nearly half a minute, Dumbledore breathed loudly through his nose. I was shocked to see ice crystals form on some of the strange contraptions that sat on his shelves. The Headmaster's composure was legendary, so for such obvious signs to leak through meant he was seriously annoyed.

"Why is it, Mr Potter," Dumbledore said, his voice calm despite the evidence of his anger, "that I only find out about serious threats to my students after my students have been forced to deal with them on their own? It seems to me from the situations you keep ending up in that you know a great deal more about potential threats than you have ever shared with me. Since you arrived at Hogwarts, I have kept my distance from you out of courtesy to your house's residual dislike of my Light-leaning preferences. I watched with secret joy as you transformed Slytherin from a place of cruelty and hatred into the cunning, charming nest of vipers it is today. You have redeemed your house in the eyes of the school, eliminated bullying and cheating, and won the respect of your peers. So why, then, does your love for your fellow students and this school not compel you to report imminent danger to the proper authorities? Do you think I know nothing of psy-vortexes? Because I certainly recognised the aftermath of the attack on the Hogwarts Express. I was among the people who combed through the wreckage of Sabrina Zabini's house when she was just a child. Do you think I know nothing of voidrope? Of the Elder Dragon? I funded your mother's research into such things! Tell me, Mr Potter, how ignorant do you believe me to be?"

I sat there, my jaw hanging open. How many times could I have gone to the headmaster for assistance? If he had been there for even one of those crises, how different would things be? Certainly, if he had been present at Lady Zabini's house, Crouch wouldn't have even shown up. Granted, Crouch probably would have used the distraction to get to Jim. But what about Hogsmeade? We didn't have time to contact Dumbledore, and we were working against the effects of Felix Felicis. Nobody but us could have handled it so neatly. And the Mass Decay field? The ambush?

Well, he probably would have been handy there, I admit. Even though we never could have seen it coming.

But beneath the guilt and rationality, an angry surge of pride kept me from voicing those thoughts. Yes, I had behaved irrationally by not seeking help, but I had also succeeded. I, and my friends, stopped the mercenary in Hogsmeade, we stopped the attack at Lady Zabini's house, we stopped the Mass Decay field _and_ psy-vortex during the ambush on the Hogwarts Express. I killed Crouch and trapped an Elder Dragon, for God's sake.

I closed my mouth and met Dumbledore's eyes fearlessly. "I had it under control."

"For the sake of this world and all who live in it, I hope I never witness what you consider to be _out_ of control," Dumbledore said wearily.

A bizarre fantasy caught me unawares, splitting my vision as though I was watching a Muggle police procedural show. _"Potter, you're a loose cannon,"_ Chief Dumbledore would say gruffly, _"But damn it, you get results."_

"However," I said, shaking free of the daydream, "I will endeavour to keep you informed if there are more problems in the future."

"I would appreciate that." Dumbledore waved a hand tiredly, dismissing me.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **This is the biggest chapter so far, clocking in at 13k words. I had parts of this written for ages, but it took a concentrated effort to string all the scenes together properly. Phew!**

 **Please review if you're enjoying the story!**


	7. The Secret Crime

**Chapter 7: The Secret Crime**

 **11 December 1994**

 **Afternoon at Hogwarts**

 **The Day After Crouch**

Lunch was in progress in the Great Hall, but I didn't really feel like returning to school life just yet. After the insanity of the past few days – or months, rather – it felt as though everything was quieter, more subdued. The roar of an Elder Dragon had muted everything else.

Without really thinking about where I was going, I ended up wandering into the library. The silence and solitude suited my mood. To be truthful, I wasn't sure where my mind was. My long sleep at Potter Manor had helped, but I knew I was still a week or two away from feeling completely normal. The encounter with the Elder Dragon had left me shell-shocked and solemn.

"Oh. Hello," said a familiar voice. I turned to find Hermione standing behind me, a stack of books in her arms. "Well, if you're not doing anything, you can carry these." She dumped half the books on me, and I had no choice but to catch them or risk Madam Pince's ire.

We ended up at a table deep within the library. Hermione barely glanced at me as she bustled about, sorting the books and flicking through her notes. She used Muggle notebooks and binders instead of parchment, just like me. I didn't realise we had that in common.

"Slytherin table is looking a bit empty these days," she said, not looking up as she scribbled something down. "Poor Greengrass has to manage the house without you."

"She can manage," I said. "She's more than capable."

Brown eyes flicked up to meet my gaze for an instant before returning to her writing. "Where have you been?" Her tone was casual.

"Busy."

"With?"

"It would scare the shit out of you if I told you."

That brought her up short. She laid down her pen and gave me a scornful look. "I'm not as easily frightened as I was a few years ago. I'm sure I could handle whatever it is."

"Well, it scares the shit out me, so I guess you're tougher than I am."

Hermione let it go, returning to her work. "You've only given me one lesson in the Mind Arts so far."

"You should have been able to build on the advice I gave you and continue making corrections."

"I have, but that doesn't excuse your unreliability."

I spread my hands. "You haven't exactly fulfilled your side of the bargain either."

"That's because you're never _here!_ " she hissed.

Madam Pince strode past, shutting us up with a glare. When she was out of range, Hermione heaved a sigh and shuffled some of her things.

"Fine," she said. "You want to know about fanes? I know a few interesting things about them. Where do you want to start?"

"Let's begin with a definition." Not for the first time, I wished I'd had time to assimilate Crouch's knowledge of fanes, since the man clearly knew a whole lot more than me.

Hermione cleared her throat. "According to Mallan's Dictionary of Uncommon Magical Terms, a 'fane' is a primitive shrine designed to bring about weak, simple effects, such as increasing the chance of rain during a drought, or helping crops grow stronger. They were also used to contain malevolent spirits, like poltergeists. However, due to how little we know about how fanes work, interfering with them is punishable by a life sentence in Azkaban."

"Seems a bit extreme, doesn't it?" I said. "The sentence for messing with them doesn't seem congruent with the benign description."

"I thought the same." She held up a finger. "That's why I tracked down an older magical dictionary and found _this_ little footnote." A copied piece of parchment came out of her notebook with a flourish. I plucked it from her hand and scanned it quickly.

"'Updated as per Ministry guidelines'," I read aloud.

"They changed the definition," Hermione said, excitement growing in her voice as she finally got to share her discovery with someone who cared. "The book I took this from was published about two hundred and fifty years ago – not long after the Ministry itself was founded."

"And that wasn't long after the Statute of Secrecy began," I realised, putting it together. Her enthusiasm was infectious. "I remember one of the textbooks for History of Magic last year had a bit on the immediate post-statute era. There were plenty of crackdowns on sources of magical knowledge due to people trying to secretly maintain their old relationships with Muggles."

A flash of pure pleasure crossed Hermione's face, wiping the cynicism away. "Exactly! Those crackdowns could have just as easily been used to cover up and destroy any other texts deemed dangerous by the Ministry, or replace them with 'updated' editions."

I laid the copied footnote on the table, thoroughly engaged now. "Do you still have the book this came from?"

Hermione hesitated just briefly before shaking her head. "I couldn't hold on to it for very long."

"Where did it come from? Not the restricted section, surely?"

"Nothing that easy." Hermione's face was so blank and still that it was obvious she was hiding something, yet when I unveiled my senses, all I saw was amusement.

"Alright, what are you playing at?"

A hand rose to hide her smile. "Well… the book technically belongs to you. Or your godfather, I suppose."

"Did you rob our house?" I asked sternly.

Hermione coughed a laugh. "No. But I may have used my arrangement with your brother to get him to ask your godfather to send certain books to the school."

"I've spent a lot of time in that library. Uncle Padfoot moved the entire Black Library there from his old house."

"Yes, Jim mentioned that too. That's what piqued my interest. And really, Harry, I know you're studious, but even you can't have read every book in that place. Plus, you wouldn't have known what you were looking at if you _had_ stumbled across this little titbit."

I leaned back in my chair and tried to hide my enjoyment at being outplayed once again. Some of it must have slipped through, because Hermione's smirk widened.

"Then tell me something, oh wise expert," I said. "Was 'fane' the only word whose definition had been updated?"

Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it quickly. Her eyebrows drew together in a very irritated frown. "I didn't check."

Hungrily, like a shark tasting blood, I leaned on the table once more. "Tunnel vision," I said sombrely. "Don't feel bad. It happens to the best of us."

"Oh, shut up," she snapped.

I sniggered, glancing around to make sure we weren't being observed. "Shall we check now?"

Hermione blinked, her irritation forgotten. "What? You mean go to your house?"

"That's where the book is, right?"

"Yes, but… we're at school." I pushed as much conceit as possible into my expression. She sighed. "Can you get me back before lunch ends?"

"Probably not. Let's go."

Escaping from Hogwarts as a student was as simple as taking the secret passage to the cellar of Honeydukes and then Apparating to Potter Manor. I had a sneaking suspicion that if Dumbledore didn't want me leaving, it wouldn't be quite that simple.

It was obvious that despite her blasé persona, Hermione was actually quite nervous about skipping school. The casualness with which I led our out-of-bounds adventure seemed to embolden her, however, and she barely looked nauseous at all when we arrived at the manor.

I gave her a moment to collect herself as I breathed the chilly air of home. The large, H-shaped manor had changed little since I last saw it, having weathered the recent storms with good cheer. In the environs around it I could see forests that had been battered by the winds as they had made their way to Hogwarts, but nothing near the damage the Forbidden Forest had sustained.

Down the grassy slope that was our backyard, the cold, glittering lake Jim and I had learned to swim in was swollen from the recent downpour, lapping over its banks and turning the grassland into a mire. Above it, the rugged mountain that dominated the landscape fed even more water into the many streams flowing down into the lowlands like blood squeezed from a stone.

My eyes stuck on the mountain. I hadn't realised it until that moment, but I had been afraid that my experience in Rybagrad would soil my appreciation of our neighbouring peak. To my relief, the mountain didn't repulse me. Unlike the sick, desiccated giant in northern Russia, our mountain had shoots of green and was whole and unbroken.

"You told me my home was near one of the largest fanes in Britain," I said. Hermione stood nearby, openly checking out my house. "It wouldn't happen to be inside that mountain, would it?"

Sharp eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Don't tell me you just _guessed_ that. You read Perkins, didn't you?"

A stone dropped into my stomach. "I was trying to rule it out," I mumbled. The mountain. _Our_ mountain. "Why is it always mountains?"

"Always?" Hermione pounced. "Is that where you've been? You found a fane in another mountain?"

I tried to appear nonchalant. "What makes you ask that?"

"You disappear after a series of disasters, and come back suddenly eager to talk about fanes. Now, I'm just guessing too, but…" Smugness radiated from her like an aura. "It seems your guess is as good as mine."

"Maybe." I abandoned the doomed battle. "Who is Perkins? Is that the author of the book that told you about the fane?"

We went inside as we spoke. Sirius didn't appear to be home, so I led the way to the library without getting a single dog hair on my clothes.

"It was a travelogue, written a hundred and fifty years ago. A wizard named Perky Perkins decided that magical folk miss too much of the countryside by travelling by Floo or Apparition, so he went on a long, meandering journey across Great Britain to see what he could see." Hermione smiled at something. "I read it for pleasure. I hope to find my own copy someday."

She had, perhaps unconsciously, lowered her voice as we strolled through the library, even though we were the only ones home. When I opened my mouth to speak, I matched her volume without thinking.

"I'm surprised it was published." I ran a hand across the spines of a dozen books. "The location of a major fane seems like the sort of the thing that would get 'updated' by the Ministry."

Hermione copied me on the other side of the aisle, visibly delighting in touching so many old books. "He didn't even know what he was describing. Plus, it's not like it said, 'Go to these coordinates.' I had to infer a lot from descriptions of landmarks and compass bearings. It was actually quite fun. Like solving a mystery."

Darn it, that _did_ sound fun. I wished I had found it first.

"I suppose," I said mildly.

We ended up at a little reading area beneath a large, arch-shaped window that looked out over the countryside – thankfully in the opposite direction of the mountain. A simple summoning spell brought forth the dictionary Hermione had taken the footnote from. We leafed through it, page after page, hunting for more signs of Ministry interference. It wasn't the largest book, only about the size of a pocket dictionary, so we were forced to huddle closely to make sure we could both read the page. We passed the entry for 'fane', which displayed the tell-tale footnote in all its curious mundanity.

The next time we saw those little words was under the entry for the word 'spirit'.

"What?" we said simultaneously. A quick scan showed that the definition closely matched what could be found in any modern magical dictionary.

"This dictionary is for 'uncommon' terms, isn't it?" I said.

Hermione nodded vigorously. "We learn about spirits at school. They would hardly qualify."

I glared at the page. _Updated as per Ministry guidelines,_ it said. "So if the definition of 'spirit' was changed…"

"… then what did it mean before?" Hermione finished in a whisper.

Our eyes met. Excitement, burning curiosity, and something close to arousal played upon the flushed contours of her face. Something similar flickered and twisted inside my chest. We were too close. Our surface thoughts fed into each other, creating a positive feedback loop. The cycles intensified suddenly, and I pulled away in fear, my heart racing.

Hermione swayed forward for a split second, as though drawn by an invisible tether between our heads. Then she snapped backwards, sitting up straight and blinking rapidly. My skin felt hot and damp with sweat.

"What… What was that?" I said, out of breath. "What are you trying to do to me?"

Hermione had turned pink from her hairline to her neck, yet she was composed enough to glare at me. "What am _I_ trying to do? You were the one thinking about 'positive feedback loops.'"

"Why were you reading my surface thoughts?" I demanded, getting to my feet.

"Why were you reading mine? I felt it, so don't try to deny it." She stood up as well.

I spluttered. "You were _this_ close to me, how could I not?"

She flung her arms wide. "Same here!"

Taking a deep breath, I steadied myself. "I don't know how it started, but we almost got caught up in an emotional feedback loop. If I hadn't broken free of it when I did, who knows what could have happened?"

Hermione folded her arms and looked away. Anger bled from her posture until only bitter amusement remained. "Who knows," she repeated.

"We'll have to be careful not to get caught in that again."

"Yep," she said, popping the 'p'.

The library was silent for almost twenty seconds. I shuffled my feet awkwardly.

Hermione checked her watch. "I should really get back to Hogwarts. Do you mind if I borrow some Floo powder? I saw some in your living room."

"I can take you Side-Along," I offered quickly.

She grimaced. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same."

I searched for something to say, but by the time I had something, she was gone. I reached the living room just as the flames turned back to normal.

"Damn it," I groaned. The vivid gold-and-red rugs and wall hangings taunted me with their blatant Gryffindor-ness.

"Bad luck, kid," said Sirius, appearing out of nowhere holding a red apple. "Nobody's suave at first. It's something you learn."

I jumped, clutching my chest. "Jesus. Were you home the whole time?"

"Don't call me Jesus. And actually, I was having a nap when you arrived with your lady friend." Sirius wiggled his eyebrows. "Thought I'd make myself scarce in case you needed the privacy. Not one of the regulars, I noticed. Have your tastes changed?"

"Ha-ha," I said flatly. "Her name is Hermione. We were just doing some studying that couldn't be done at school."

"Forbidden knowledge?"

"Something like that."

"Sounds cool. Does this mean you're going back to school soon? Jim mentioned you've been skipping." asked Sirius, biting into the apple with a mighty crunch.

"Maybe," I replied absently, moving to stare out the window. The sight of the mountain had the effect of forcing me to put aside my hormonal fumblings for the moment.

Sirius swallowed and dropped onto a plush, maroon sofa with a sigh. "I don't know how you managed to get a free pass on skipping classes, but I wish I'd had one back in the day."

I turned just enough to grin at him. "I could probably graduate this year if I wanted to. The teachers all know it. The only reason I'm still at school is because of my friends."

"Show-off," Sirius said approvingly. "So? What's on the agenda? I'm up for some more graveyard forensics if you are."

I blinked. "Oh yeah, that. I still don't know what's up with that, but it was recently pointed out to me that I keep a lot of unnecessary secrets and try to handle everything myself."

" _No,_ " Sirius said in mock-disbelief.

I nodded soberly. "It's true. Let me fill you in on what I _do_ know about that graveyard thing."

Sirius made an attentive listener, gasping at all the right moments, growling in anger when Jim's blood was stolen by an Imperiused Madam Pomfrey, and ' _hmm_ 'ing incessantly as I speculated what the cauldron in the graveyard had been intended for.

"So, basically, you don't have a clue," he summarised.

I drew myself up indignantly, then deflated as a counterargument failed to appear. "Basically."

"Well," Sirius brushed his nails on his shirt, "If only you had a genius detective ex-Auror uncle who could look into it for you."

"Your Auror days are behind you," I said dubiously.

"I saw the footprints in the shrapnel before you. Even caught the direction they were moving in."

Once again, I was silenced by a good point. "Alright," I shrugged. "Fine, go for it. Just don't do anything too crazy without me, alright?"

"Let it be known how much I approve of the 'without me' part of that sentence," Sirius said with a grin.

I leaned against the windowsill and chuckled. "What are you going to do?"

"Standard stuff. I've still got my fake Muggle police badge around here somewhere. I'll go door-to-door and see if anyone remembers seeing lights in the graveyard that night. If they do, I'll nab a copy of their memories, then cross-reference them all later, try and figure it out."

"Huh. You really were an Auror. I always thought that was just something you said to pick up women," I said with a smirk.

"Ex-Auror is sexier," Sirius said knowingly, waggling his apple core at me by the stem like a teacher's pointer. "It adds an element of danger. What did I do to lose my job? I'm a mystery, Harry."

"An enigma," I agreed. "And when they find out who you are, do they immediately realise you resigned to look after a couple of crying brats? I imagine that must cool the ardour fairly quickly."

"Oh, Harry," Sirius said, shaking his head with a benevolent smile. "You don't understand women at all."

I snorted and turned back to the window. "Clearly." The mountain once again consumed my vision. After a few minutes, I broke the comfortable silence. "Have you ever gone hiking up there?"

"You mean Mount James-Potter-Is-A-Lazy-Twat?"

"Huh?"

Sirius tossed his apple core into the fireplace and rose to join me at the window. "That's what Lily named it. I don't know its official name, but I've always wanted to get it changed to that."

"Why did she name it that?"

"Because James flat out refused to go hiking with her anymore."

"She spent a lot of time up there?" I asked, keeping my tone casual. Dumbledore had mentioned funding my mother's research into voidrope and other such things, but I hadn't followed him up on it. I preferred to do my digging a little less… directly.

"Every minute not spent fighting Death Eaters or snogging James. This was before they went into hiding at Godric's Hollow. Times were… well, I won't say good, but the dark just made the light seem brighter, you know? Any of us could die any time, so we did our best to not waste a moment. Lily loved working on her projects and hiking up the mountain, James loved sneaking out to see Quidditch games, even knowing Death Eaters could drop in at any moment. There were some good times around here." Sirius paused for a moment and cleared his throat. I didn't need to be psychically talented to sense the old grief that bubbled to the surface.

"What kind of projects did Mum work on?"

Sirius waved a hand. "No idea. Way over my head, and that's saying something. She took all her notes to Godric's Hollow, and… well, they're gone, in any case."

I looked at the floor, hope dwindling in my chest.

Sirius clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Sorry," he murmured. "That was a bit blunt, wasn't it?"

"No, it's fine. Are you sure Mum took all of her notes?"

"Yeah, unfortunately. They made a point of not leaving anything valuable for the Death Eaters to play with if they raided this place. Honestly, when we left to set up the house at Godric's Hollow, we all thought the next time we saw Potter Manor it would be razed to the ground. It was a painful thought, especially when James had only commissioned this place a few years before, on his seventeenth birthday."

I started. "Wait, this place was built only a few years before I was born? I thought it was the Potter ancestral home."

Shrugging, Sirius rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Nah, the Potters never really went in for that sort of thing. James and Lily were just going to live with James's parents after getting married – their place was plenty big enough – but then Lily started getting ideas for great spots to build a house, and James never really stood a chance of resisting." He laughed. "I remember him telling me how he finally had access to the Potter fortune, but wasn't certain he'd survive long enough to really enjoy it. 'Spend big,' I told him. 'Don't look back'. Next thing you know, Lily picked out the spot, James picked out the décor, and _bam_ , the Potters had a manor for the first time in generations."

If I hadn't known better, I probably would have just smiled along with the story and enjoyed the moment. But too many things were lining up in very specific patterns, and I couldn't shake the feeling that my mother was far too clever for her own good.

"I kinda want to go up there now. Is that okay?"

Sirius nodded cheerfully. "Sure. I've still got my hiking boots around here somewhere."

"Um… Do you mind if I go alone?" I said sheepishly.

Sirius's face softened in understanding. "No, go for it." He ruffled my hair, which I pretended to hate, and left me to prepare.

* * *

I decided to climb Mount James-Potter-Is-A-Lazy-Twat the Muggle way. No Featherlight Charms to ease my ascent, just good boots, a rucksack with some water and energy bars, and a sizeable stick I found in the woods below the mountain. I imagined my mother had picked up hiking sticks from the same area whenever she walked the faint trail through the pine trees. There were plenty to choose from, thanks to the winds tearing hundreds of branches loose. Occasionally, a long, windswept arm would groan and droop before snapping off and clattering to the ground.

The greenery thinned out after about half an hour, and soon vines and occasional shrubbery were the only signs of life. Or so I thought, until I spotted lizards crawling on the sides of boulders, zipping out of sight when they saw me. A fat adder sat motionless in its rocky den, too cold to even move. Above me, sparrowhawks flitted back and forth from their concealed nests, feeding their fledglings urgently in the face of such unpredictable weather.

The sight of nature comforted me. There had been nothing alive in Rybagrad, except perhaps one poor hermit who ended up caught between forces he had no way of resisting. The 'Satan' creature still held a frustrating place in my mind. Whatever it was, it had easily ensnared my entire team, and possibly killed Noam. I hated not knowing things, but it seemed like it was becoming a recurring pattern.

My legs were aching barely halfway up. I knew I should be grateful the mountain was climbable at all without equipment, but telling that to my thighs didn't soothe them at all. My breath misted in front of me as the day cooled down. I tried to imagine my mother dragging my father up this very trail; her, marching doggedly with a determined look on her face; him, puffing and panting, trying to make jokes while out of breath, fingering his wand and fantasising about summoning his broomstick.

The trail split and diverged through the house-sized rocky outcrops. I never pondered too long on which way to go, indeed, my feet never stopped moving as I was pulled upwards by my curiosity.

An ending came in the form of a cave opening shaped like an enormous eye socket. A cave-in had blocked the entrance quite thoroughly, leaving not even the smallest gap that led into whatever lay beyond.

I shrugged and turned to leave, my curiosity satisfied, thoughts of dinner floating through my mind, before spinning back to face the cave in, because _what?_ My heart sped up. A very powerful repellent charm had laid its hooks into my mind.

I backed away, unveiling my senses, shucking off the creeping vines of compulsions that weren't my own. The whole cave entrance was _lathered_ in both magical and psychic wards.

Kane's words yesterday came to the forefront of my mind.

" _This is not the first time we have needed to permanently secure and monitor an anomalous area."_

I grimaced at the sheer strength of the wards. I couldn't challenge them, even with my power. Perhaps if Jim and I worked together we could pull it off – or perhaps Dumbledore alone might be capable – but I had a feeling even attempting to break through would result in every combat-capable Unspeakable dropping their heaviest curses on this whole area.

 _Why did I come up here?_

The question surprised me, despite being wholly mine and not the result of some insidious defensive measure. Where was that sense of expectation coming from? Something else was at work, something the Unspeakables had missed despite their meticulousness.

I saw it in the stones themselves. Psychic markers, keyed to a frustratingly familiar frequency that eluded my recognition, like a word on the tip of my tongue. The markers had dotted the path up to the mountain, subtly nudging me this way and that, and _only_ if I hit every marker in precisely the order I had would this final, overt marker appear. It was among the most creative uses of the Mind Arts I had ever seen.

The ultimate marker took the form of a long stick, not dissimilar to the hiking stick I had picked up at the base, but older and more gnarled. I picked it up fearlessly, emboldened by an inexplicable certainty that it wasn't a trap. The stick was taller than me, with a smooth portion around where my hand naturally gripped.

 _Was this really yours?_

The name had come to me, but I couldn't speak it. Unlike the name of the Dark Lord, it was pure, human awe that held my tongue. The awe of a child.

I examined the hiking stick, leaving mine behind like the useless piece of wood it had become in the face of this treasure. A knot of wood the size of a clenched fist topped the stick. The psychic marker had been placed specifically on that spot. I uncurled the hardened wood carefully, peeling back layer after layer.

In the heart, there was a crystal vial containing a swirling, glimmering silver substance.

I knew what the smart thing to do was. Taking the vial home, analysing it for malicious qualities, consulting a book or three, and _then_ start thinking about interacting with it.

I opened the vial. Tentatively, like the first taste of hot soup, I touched the contents.

A new perspective unfolded around me. I felt dizzy as I saw two different images at once. Then, one of them replaced the other.

I remained where I stood at the mouth of the cave. Only, the cave was no longer blocked. I could see a dimly lit cavern within. If it weren't for the eerie, dreamlike sensation, I would have believed the vial had done nothing but open the way.

A woman stood a short distance from me, partway inside the cavern. She was taller than me, with long, vibrant red hair and bright green eyes. My breath caught in my throat.

Lily Potter turned her head and looked me straight in the eye.

"Hello, Harry," she said with a smile.

"Mum?" I whispered. I could sense no deception. As far as I could tell, the person in front of me was as real as any other person I had seen while inside a mindscape.

"It's me," Lily confirmed gently.

I couldn't move, couldn't think. "How?"

She winked at me. "You could say I had a Backup plan."

"This is your Backup function? How is it still working? Why would you remove it? How –"

"It's a Backup-Memory hybrid I designed. By adding copies of important memories, the function degrades at a slower rate." She waved me over. "Now, I believe you came here for a reason."

I followed her gesture like a fly-struck lamb. The ground cracked under my feet.

"Careful," Lily cautioned over her shoulder. "You're more powerful here. Keep yourself in check, or I'll be destroyed."

Immediately, I clamped down on my senses, stuffing away the racing thoughts that threatened to undo this fragile miracle.

We entered the cavern that had been sealed in the real world. It was like standing inside a gigantic iron maiden. I stared wonderingly at the drooling stalactites above us. No matter where on the cavernous ceiling they formed, they all pointed towards the centre of the room. Meltwater from tiny invisible channels in the roof flowed endlessly down each stalactite, making their uneven surfaces smooth and glossy. Where the many trickles of water met the floor, thin grooves had been bored into the ground. As the stalactites grew, the water falling off each tip moved, and over the millennia even these gentle streams could carve through solid rock.

The result was a series of narrow cracks below each stalactite, all leading towards the middle of the chamber. Only the most vertical of stalactites, the ones right above the centre, lacked corresponding trenches, instead possessing pinholes that took water away into the depths without a sound.

At the centre of all this geological attention, a halo-shaped stone altar sat close to the ground. Thin bars of water poked holes in the rocky floor around it, but none of the touched the altar itself, or fell inside it.

On the altar, arranged in a circle, were a number of wooden sculptures of a design that I had never encountered before. They followed a particular pattern: a footlong length of intricately carved alder; a small, rhombus-shaped piece of dark wood with an indecipherable symbol on one face; and a sheet of soft, flexible bark that almost resembled cloth, unmarked. One-two-three, one-two-three, around the entire altar. I couldn't make sense of it.

"This is a fane," Lily said quietly. She'd followed behind me, watching me take it all in. "It was built around six thousand years ago, though, as always, it's hard to be sure about these things."

"What _is_ a fane?" I asked, squatting beside the altar to study the carvings closely.

"A shrine of sorts. This was long before the Statute of Secrecy, so magical folk still lived and worked alongside Muggles. It was before Hogwarts, before the Founders, before wands and brooms." Lily wandered over and crouched beside me. "These carvings are actually made from wand wood. We just utilised it differently back then. Instead of waving them around to cast spells, we carved them into shapes that represented different effects we were trying to achieve."

"And when combined like this, I suppose more complex, multilayered effects could be achieved," I guessed.

Lily nodded, her green eyes flashing with delight. "Yes, exactly."

"So what was the purpose of this fane? Why build it all the way up here?"

"Well, considering this is from before recorded history, it's doubtful we'll ever truly understand this place the way a local shaman might have. But thankfully, it's not the only fane to be discovered in Britain, and most of them follow the same format: big, dark caves; running water is involved somehow, and the wooden carvings are arranged on a ring-shaped altar, occasionally supplemented by voidrope. Through cross-referencing and… other methods, we've pieced together what appears to be part of a Neolithic creation myth."

"Did they summon proto-God with this thing?" I asked dryly.

"The opposite, actually," Lily said seriously. "These three recurring carvings were always found in fanes that were used for summoning or banishing malevolent spirits, which the early shamans likely framed as the adversaries in their vocal history and mythology."

"I take it angry ghosts were a lot more threatening back then."

Lily tutted at my light-hearted responses. I couldn't blame her. Here she was, trying to share some knowledge of ancient history, and I was too busy enjoying the simple fact I was able to banter with my mother, something that had been impossible before today. I decided to focus up. Clearly, Lily had a point to make.

"Spirits, not ghosts," she said. "The modern classification does ghosts a disservice. Peeves the Poltergeist, at Hogwarts, is closer to a true spirit than a ghost could ever be."

That caught my attention. My discovery with Hermione suddenly seemed very relevant. "I thought Poltergeists were a known species of spirit?" I said.

"What you need to understand is that the Ministry classification of what is and isn't a spirit is deliberately misleading. It's designed to stifle knowledge of true spirits, which have, at times, been referred to as demons. Banshees, Gytrashes, Caipora; none of these things are spirits. They are only categorised as such in order to shape public perception of spirits into something quite far removed from the truth."

I paused, digesting the new information.

"What are spirits, then?" I asked, opting for the direct route.

"Dementors, Boggarts, and Poltergeists, the three most commonly known Non-Beings in the Spirit category, began as three very dangerous spirits that were allowed to enter our world at places like this." Lily gestured at the altar.

"Began? So they've changed since then?"

"We don't know what happened to the original spirits, but we know they found a way to reproduce, or at least create lesser copies of themselves. But since their offspring were born in our world, they took on some of our qualities. The Dementor population is tied to the amount of fear and misery present in the human population of whatever region they're occupying. They are also weak to the Patronus Charm, which is the embodiment of a very happy memory bolstered by the caster's willpower. Boggarts hide in human dwellings and feed on the fear they incite when they are discovered, but can be beaten with a simple spell and an imaginative sense of humour. Poltergeists revel in young people and mischief, but can be settled down by a suitably old or clever person."

Lily met my eyes. "In short, they became _fair._ "

"Meaning the original spirits weren't," I said in realisation.

"Exactly." Another flash of delight crossed Lily's eyes, and I tried to suppress the happiness I felt at the sight. "Imagine what the original spirits were like, Harry. The father of all Dementors, unkillable, unstoppable, inhaling souls with every breath while all who stood against it cowered in helpless fear before a force they had no comprehension of. Imagine the Boggart, a being that knows the fears of humans and can take their image, take any image, allowing it to hide within those early societies and do… whatever it pleased. And finally, imagine Peeves if his tricks and games were more sadistic than mischievous, and there's no headmaster on earth who can call him to order."

I couldn't even picture it. "How did those early shamans manage to survive?"

Lily wiggled her eyebrows playfully. "Nooobody knooows," she said spookily.

I tried not to smile, but I was pretty sure my mother noticed. I turned away so I wouldn't have to see her victorious grin. Every second I spent with her felt wonderful. Natural.

"So why hasn't anybody built a fane in Hogwarts and tried to banish Peeves once and for all? Or the Dementors and Boggarts?" I asked.

"Building, repairing, or trying to use a fane is a crime comparable to Utterance," Lily said simply. "And don't even talk about destroying one. The problem with these things having been used thousands of years ago is that we no longer know how to utilise this form of magic. The knowledge of how to summon spirits has been lost – or hidden – alongside the knowledge of how to banish them. Since we don't know how these fanes work, we can't tell if they are still in use."

I blinked, rocking back on my heels, forgetting it was a memory for a moment as I stared up at the stalactites. "You mean they might still be fulfilling their purpose?" My blood chilled at the thought. The Elder Dragon's roar echoed inside my skull. It was something I never wanted to experience again.

"There might be an evil spirit trapped in this very fane, and we wouldn't… even… know it!" Lily grabbed me by the shoulders, making me let out a startled yelp. I rounded on her furiously, my cheeks burning as she laughed.

Slowly, her mirth subsided into a warm smile. Impulsively, I hugged her, and she returned it.

"I wish," I whispered. "I wish…"

"I know," she murmured. "But really, Harry, stop acting like I'm dead. It's not very polite."

"You _are_ dead. This is some kind of personality imprint combined with copies of the real Lily's memories."

Lily rolled her eyes as though I was being silly. "If you say so."

I swallowed the lump in my throat and deliberately stepped away from her. It was agonising.

"I've only seen one other fane," I said. Lily nodded pleasantly. "It was in northern Russia. It contained an Elder Dragon. With all this talk of 'original' spirits, is it possible…?"

Lily said nothing, urging me on with her gaze.

"It wasn't _an_ Elder Dragon… it was _the_ Elder Dragon," I said, my eyes widening. "It was one of the original spirits. Normal dragons are its descendants! That's why we can beat them – they became fair, just like the Dementors and the others! But the original Dragon was just like the original Boggart, and Dementor, and Poltergeist!"

Lily laughed and clasped her hands together. "That's exactly right!"

I plucked my glasses from my head and rubbed my eyes as the revelations washed over me. "I can hardly believe this." I replaced my glasses. "But if the original spirits weren't fair, why was I able to trap the Elder Dragon back in its fane? Shouldn't it have simply destroyed everything the moment it arrived?"

"I don't know, Harry. I never encountered any of the original spirits, as far as I know." She kneeled down and patted his shirt, smoothing out the wrinkles. "But _you_ have the chance to answer your own questions. It all depends on how far you're willing to go for the truth." Her green eyes, so similar to his own, held him transfixed. "I was ready to give my life for it. Apparently, I did. Don't let the sacrifices of those who came before us be in vain."

"You died protecting me and Jim, didn't you?" I asked quietly.

Lily cocked her head. "That doesn't sound like me." She grinned. "I _always_ have a backup plan."

I didn't know what to say. I knew Lily Potter was dead. Sirius, Jim, and I always visited our parents on our birthday. Back when I had less control over my powers, I had accidentally sensed the bones lurking below the grave-dirt. Both sets had resonated with me in a way that could only happen if they were directly blood-related, the same way Lily's psychic markers drew my attention. The experience had been what began my pursuit of self-control, namely because feeling them, actually _feeling_ them below the earth, along with the empathic connection, had driven it into me that my parents, my family, had been real, and were now dead. As a child, it had hurt so much to suddenly understand my parents as more than just other people's memories, and then realise I would never know them myself.

I withdrew from the Backup-Memory hybrid function, my mind whirling.

Only then did I think, _Wait, what was that about 'Utterance'?_

* * *

 **14 December 1994**

 **Potter Manor**

A few days had passed since my experience inside Mount James-Potter-Is-A-Lazy-Twat. I had spent much of the intervening time drifting through the corridors of Potter Manor like a ghost. Every time I tried to ask myself what the reasonable reaction should be, I came up blank.

Sirius had been popping in an out working on the Graveyard Case, as he called it. He seemed to understand I needed some time to myself. I don't know what I did to deserve such an excellent godfather.

I felt a flare of energy in the wards: someone wanted to Floo into the house. I took my time walking to the living room.

"Who is it?" I said into the flames.

"Kane," replied a distant, gravelly voice.

I sighed and let him through.

Kane was short and hard as a boulder. If he told me his face had been turned to stone in a freak encounter with a Basilisk many years ago, I would believe him.

"Harry," said Kane by way of greeting. "The situation in Rybagrad is secure."

"Great," I said with a shrug.

He eyed me. "You were more concerned about it a few days ago."

I blew out my cheeks and leaned against the brick fireplace. "Have you ever learned a lot of heavy secrets in quick succession? They take the sting out of each other. It's like mental indigestion, they just roll around inside your head, each one preventing the other from being fully processed."

"Yes, I have. During orientation."

I breathed a laugh. "I can't even imagine."

Kane cocked his head. "Are you ready for more?"

"Oh, God."

With a flap of his robes, Kane produced a handful of vials similar to the one my mother had left me, along with a scrap of parchment. "These are copies of the memories your team gave us of their time in Rybagrad. We've been unable to analyse them in too much detail, but perhaps a Mind Arts user of your potency will have better luck. There's also a written description of the hermit, like you asked."

I accepted the vials reluctantly. "How are they doing?"

"As you requested, we've left them with their memories, though I'm not certain how wise that is. They are each traumatised to different extents."

"What about Noam's family? Are they taken care of?"

Kane rolled his shoulders a little, one of the first times I've seen any discomfort from him. "He didn't have any family. In fact, we are struggling to find any records for him at all."

"How did he make it on the task force?"

"We're not sure. Every party that had representatives present at the staging area claims they have never heard of him." An intermittent tremor ran through the fingers of Kane's wand hand. "The mission may have been compromised from the start."

I cleaned my glasses on my shirt. "The question is, to what end?"

"I'll leave you to review the raw data." Kane turned to leave.

"Wait. There's something else. Can you define the term 'Utterance' for me? And I don't mean the mundane definition."

Slowly, Kane faced me once more. "May I ask how you came across that term?"

I thought about it. "No."

Kane nodded, apparently expecting that answer. "Utterance is an unwritten crime," he said. "If a person knows enough that they are capable of committing it, then they know enough to understand why it's a bad idea. For that reason, and to safeguard against public panic, Utterance is not known to the majority of Wizengamot members, or even the Minister for Magic himself."

"May I ask what the crime actually entails?"

Kane thought about it. "No."

I smiled grimly, unsurprised. "Then how about this. Did you find anything at the fane in Rybagrad?"

"We found what we expected to find at such a place." Kane's eyes were guarded; he wasn't sure what my angle was and didn't want to give me what I wanted for free. Old habits died hard.

"So all the usual things were present? Big cave – or at least it _was_ in a cave before the top of the mountain blew off – running water, wooden carvings, voidrope?"

"…Yes."

"Good, good." I nodded mildly. "Alright, off you go."

Reluctantly, as he was clearly still unsure what I had been trying to do, Kane left by Floo.

 _So that fane_ did _have wooden carvings. They must have fallen into the meltwater and froze beneath the surface when the Elder Dragon emerged._ So far, at least, my mother's words were backed up by evidence.

* * *

It was time to review my team's memories. Considering the Unspeakables had been unable to make much progress, and the donors themselves were traumatised, I went into the family Pensieve with more than a little trepidation.

There was a reason the Unspeakables hadn't been able to penetrate far into the memories – a layer of accumulated, abject terror strongly dissuaded anyone from entering. To a lesser mind, the shock of such intense emotion served as kind of Protection function localised within the memory. For me, it meant an uncomfortable few minutes picking my way through terror signals shot from emulated synapse to emulated synapse; echoes of the minds the memories came from.

Misty surroundings resolved themselves as the tidal cavern my team had taken shelter in after the Elder Dragon emerged. I stepped into a scene of raw panic. Darya stood with her fist outstretched, her little cross necklace hanging between her fingers. Despite this, she was frozen with fear, her lips pulled back into a horrific grimace. Geoffrey clutched at his chest as though experiencing a heart attack, and though I knew he survived this particular encounter, I still had to suppress the urge to help him. The little German woman, Mia, curled into a ball on her side, eyes transfixed on the other side of the cavern. The villagers that had unnerved me so were wailing and screeching with utter abandon, the same word, over and over. _Satana._

All of their eyes converged on a single point. The hell-pit was still there, burgeoning with unholy orange light and smoke through which a solitary figure emerged.

 _Oh my God, it's him, it's actually him, oh God, oh God, he's real, he's right there and he's real –_

I stomped a mental foot down on the tail end of the fear-babbling. I could still feel more terrified exclamations plucking at my tongue, but I refused to voice them. In memories, the Mind Arts were more powerful, since memories are inherently products of the mind. That meant _I_ was more powerful too, and no memory could be shocking enough to force me to stammer and whimper like a scaredy-cat.

I stared at 'Satan' and almost immediately picked up on the psychic energy blaring out of him like a foghorn. I leapt on the discovery like a cat on a mouse. Fallen angels, if they existed, wouldn't need the Mind Arts to do anything. If you ruled over Hell and commanded hordes of demons, you wouldn't bother dicking around in a cave in northern Russia either.

I allowed the memory to play out, slowly. Noam was closest to the apparition, but instead of screaming like the others, he stood stock-still, utterly expressionless. Being that close to Satan while the latter was blasting out mind-waves like it was going out of style could have stunned him, or otherwise rendered him insensate to current events. The shock might have even caused him to simply shut down. Either that, or…

Outside, the Elder Dragon returned to its containment. The shockwave was just as jarring as I remembered. But something curious happened to Satan at the same time. He wavered. The psychic energy, whatever it was being used for, faltered. The villagers flickered like the picture on a paused videotape. Only the bound man, who I now knew as the hermit Kane had mentioned, Noam, and the rest of the team were unaffected.

Satan vanished, as did the villagers and the entire hell-pit. Noam, caught in the middle of it, had time to stare in the direction of the mountain before popping out of existence as well. Not Apparition, mind you. He just… stopped.

I followed the memory for a while longer. Besides some crying and retching, nothing of note occurred. When I saw myself show up, I withdrew from the Pensieve.

What kind of entity had we unknowingly encountered? My laser-focus on killing Crouch and dealing with the Elder Dragon had caused my team to experience a psychic sandblasting they would never forget. That didn't mean I was wrong to focus on the main threats. It just meant that even the best choices come with consequences.

* * *

 **20 December 1994**

 **Morning at Hogwarts**

It was time to go back to school. Progress had ground to a halt in the absence of new leads, and I was falling into unhealthy behaviour patterns by stewing at home all day. Crouch was dead, the Elder Dragon was contained, and whatever Satan was, it was off the radar for the moment.

Plus, I really missed my friends.

And so, on a snowy Tuesday morning, I casually showed up in the Slytherin common room just before students began emerging. I parked myself in my usual corner on a sofa and breathed deeply the scents of the snake pit. Leather and polished wood. The mantel above the hearth was enriched by centuries of woodsmoke, and bore a little carved relief of a snake eating its own tail. Ouroboros. I wondered who had carved it, and why. I'd wondered it since my first year. It was a comfortable, nostalgic question that I knew I would never answer.

Students, yawning and heavy-footed, slowly trickled into the common room, many pausing to wait for friends in different dorms to catch up. Blaise appeared not long after the first student, and paused when he saw me. A smirk pulled at one corner of his mouth.

"About time," he murmured, clasping my hand briefly.

Pansy came out next, scanned the common room for Draco, then crossed her arms and faced back the way she came. She hadn't noticed me, but I was used to her tunnel-vision when Draco was involved. The blonde himself wasn't far behind, adding a few final touches to his slicked-back hair while ostentatiously holding a mirror using nothing but his mind. Crumbs of psychic frost fell from the handle.

 _He's kept up on his exercises. Good._

Draco paused mid-step when he saw me, accidentally ignoring Pansy who waved at him eagerly.

"So you're back, are you?" he said dismissively. Pansy tugged at his sleeve and he quickly pressed his lips to her temple, which seemed to mollify her for the moment.

"Oh." Pansy blinked at me. "Where did you come from?"

Blaise sniggered and I just smiled pleasantly.

Greg and Vince passed by, slowing when they noticed our gathering. I nodded to them, and they took it as a sign to keep on moving. They both looked a little happier, nonetheless. I knew they preferred each other's company to being in a group and didn't want to saddle them with unwanted socialisation.

Finally, the last member of our group glided out of the dormitory tunnel. Daphne had her shining, midnight-black hair parted on the left now, which was new. Ice-blue eyes widened as she saw me. Her brow furrowed; her lips pursed.

"Daphne," I said quickly, forestalling my well-deserved admonishment. "Will you be my date to the Yule Ball?"

Daphne closed her mouth. The frown remained, but her cheeks were a little rosy. "You ask me with only five days left?" she said archly. "What if I have already been asked?"

"I'll cry," I promised.

Her lips twitched. I saw her jaw work as she bit the inside of her lip to keep from smiling. "Very well," she sighed, stepping closer to me. "I'll spare you the embarrassment. I accept."

I leaned down and kissed Daphne on the lips. A commitment, Tracey had said, all those months ago. It's the only way to apologise that makes sure they know you mean it.

* * *

 **Author's Notes:**

 **Maybe the quickest update I've done so far. A bit action-light, but after the craziness of last chapter, I think it fits to have a slower, lore-heavy chapter.**

 **Please review if you're enjoying the story!**


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